A New Order
by LadyBraken
Summary: Harry Potter isn't quite the golden boy some wants him to be; he discovered his power at a very young age and in unfortunates events, and is much more intelligent than he should be. However, nobody seem to know to whom his loyalty stand for... Grey Harry/ Slytherin Harry/ Total Reboot political world/ multiple school/ pairing later on - under grammatical correction
1. Prologue

Hy guys! So this is my first Harry Potter fanfic, and I have a warning: it will be very loooong. I'm going to talk about sometimes violent or hard themes, which might bother some, and there will probably be slash (much further). This fic is rated for a reason! I may do some mistakes as English isn't my native language, feel free to point them out if it annoys you. Anyway, I hope you will like it!

Warning: violence, blood

 **A New Order**

Prologue

Harry was 10 when he heard the voice for the first time.

He was waiting in the living room, his eyes staring at the floor. He knew what was coming. He was used to it.

Monster. They liked to call him that. Freak, Degenerate, Animal. His uncle liked to beat him; Harry knew that. He could see it on his uncle's face, he could read it in his mind. His aunt Petunia just sat and watched, but she never moved or did anything. She was just staring at him with contempt, while her son was laughing and encouraging his father.

Harry had learned to stop screaming. He stopped crying, he never begged, for it would only bring more pain. Uncle Vernon liked to see him hurt, because he was scared and hateful. Harry knew it. And uncle Vernon, through his dull mind, knew that Harry knew as well, in a way. It only enraged him more.

This time, Vernon had chosen a metallic bar to hit his nephew. He didn't have any purpose to it, he was angry, and Harry existed.

But this time, Vernon didn't look like he would stop beating him. Harry heard his bones crack, until he couldn't hold his screams, and started to see black dots in front of his eyes. He was already so fragile, he hadn't eaten anything in the last three days.

He was staring at Petunia. Help me, his eyes said, for it might be your last chance to help me.

Then the voice came.

Harry...

He didn't notice it. He was in pain, like never before. He couldn't concentrate on anything else than the pain of the cold metallic bar breaking his bones into pieces, the screams of his cousin, the blank stare of Petunia until he passed out from the pain.

Harry woke up at the same place he had fainted, in the middle of the Dursley's living room. Everything was dark around him. The clock's ticks were the only sound in the room.

He tried to get up, but he couldn't. He looked at his leg. Broken, obviously. The pain was unbearable, but he didn't scream, nor cry. Doing it would be admitting that they had won, that they had broken him. He wasn't broken. He only needed some bandages, he told himself, and a safe place to rest.

But the pain doesn't stop when you want it to. It isn't that simple. The biggest part of his wounds had already healed. He tried to breathe slowly, focusing on it for a moment.

It was one of the reasons they hated him. He was able to do things. They couldn't understand it, so they wanted it to disappear. He hated them for that. He could forgive the hate, he could forgive the insults, but the pain, even after he had healed himself, the pain stayed.

Harry felt his heart rushing trough his feelings. He couldn't fully understand how he felt. He was sad, terrified, angry, and tired, so tired; and that combination was literally hurting his heart. He pressed his hand against his chest, screaming silently, trying to make it go away. But it wouldn't. Around him, a dark dust was slowly spreading, and everything started shaking.

He looked around, seeking for anything that might help him. This was when he saw them: the knives, waiting patiently, shining coldly under the moonlight illuminating the room.

He felt his heart calm down. Somehow, he finally rose, while staring at the knives.

They were hypnotic. He wasn't thinking anymore. He only took one of them, slowly, enjoying the noise of the blade against the folder. It was a real melody, something cold, calm. A blade's lullaby. The pain in his legs seemed to have moved into some sort of determination, of nothingness. He could feel it, but it was like it was somebody else's. He wasn't even shaking. His body and mind were blank. He only remembered what his cousin said to him, only a few hours earlier, when he saw Harry trying to escape the house silently.

" Nobody would even notice if you died, freak". If that so , he thought, nobody will never notice if I happen to kill you, my dear . They would notice the Dursleys's absence, and in a day or two find the bodies, but who would remember the little pile of rags which used to be somewhere in the corner?

Slowly, he limped into the stairs, one step after the other. His leg was bleeding, and he did his best to ignore the pain, which was slowly returning. It was a living hell. Not that it changed from usual, but for the first time he was acknowledging it.

Somehow, he felt like someone was helping him. He felt like someone was actually trying to cast the pain away. Poor me, he thought, Am I so lonely that I'm making imaginary friends?

He pushed the door to the Dursleys's room. They were here, silently sleeping, peaceful. Disgusting. At this very moment, he knew how superior he was, how scared of him, how tiny, how helpless they were. He knew that he had something more. His shadow grew on their sleeping bodies, and for an instant, he thought it was like death was already over them.

His hand tightened on the knife.

Do it...

He moved silently, and stood on the mattress, over his uncle. He will start with him, not only because he was the most dangerous, but because Petunia loved him. And above all people in this world, it was Petunia that he hated the most. He wanted to hurt her.

Suddenly, Vernon opened his eyes. They looked at each other for a second. Harry could see himself, pale, green eyes glowing from the inside, unpleasant smile on his face, the knife shining in his hand.

The hit Vernon sends into Harry's belly made the young boy fly across the room. Fear came back as he crashed on the corridor's floor and felt his ribs cracks. He immediately ran for his "room", the small cupboard under the stairs, half limping, half crawling, his uncle on his heels. In the panic, he had let the knife go.

"COME BACK HERE YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF-", he heard upstairs.

He had to heal, he had to leave. Otherwise, he would die, he knew it. He tried to concentrate, but he was too frightened. He heard his uncle's footstep's on the stairs, he heard his mad thoughts. I'm going to kill this little brat, he doesn't belong to this world, how dare he raise his filthy hands on me... Harry couldn't breathe anymore. Partly because of the concentration he needed to fix his leg, partly because he now had ribs trying to pierce trough his lungs and every movement was painful.

He tried to think of an escape. His neighbours wouldn't help, they never did. They were the same as the Dursleys, more quiet in the hatred, maybe. One of the children looked a bit like himself, he had the same cadaverous features, the sames wounds on his body, but not as often, maybe was he in a better situation, but what could two children could do more than one? He had no family. He couldn't have any friends as he was locked up most part of the year. He couldn't deal with the police, he was seeking freedom, not jail. Unless...

His uncle was drumming at the door, but Harry wanted it closed, so it remained in place. But he couldn't go on like that. He had nowhere to go. His emotions were like a storm in his chest, and he felt like his skull was going to explode, to split in half from the lightning shaped scar he had on the forehead.

" Get out of here! I'm going to fucking kill you!" his uncle shouted at the door.

"No."

The noises stopped as Uncle Vernon stood still under the shock. That was his chance. Harry threw himself through the door and jumped on him. He only needed a single touch.

He put his hand on his uncle's, and looked into his eyes.

Images came to his mind. He saw his uncle meeting Petunia. He saw the birth of Dursley. He saw many things he didn't want to, but he didn't care. Everywhere he passed, he destroyed everything. Memory after memory, neuron after neuron, in an instant uncle Vernon didn't exist anymore. He had become an object. A doll, a big reddish doll.

Harry only noticed Petunia's screams when it was over. The boy violently turned towards her. She was holding her beloved son against her as if her only arms could save him from the boy. In the corridor, of her dull-faced husband, two green orbs were staring at her in the shadows.

It only took an instant for Harry to put her out of his way. When his cousin finally fell on the floor, he sat into the couch. He never had the right to do so before, and the feeling was exquisite, even with the pain that made all his body shiver. He was exhausted, but he was mostly sad. His anger had faded away at the exact moment he knew he had won, and that he had won so easily. Now, he knew it was the only way, and that at one point or another he would have had to come to this. He had no way out, and this situation was the only one he could have ended in.

He watched the bodies of his family laying on the floor, slowly breathing as he felt asleep, and for the first time in his life he wasn't afraid to wake up.

He woke up at midday, and his leg was almost healed. He used to heal a lot quicker, but exhaustion and the gravity of his wounds had made his body weaker.

The Dursleys were still on the floor, not giving any sign of independent movement. Even if he had the strongest will to get rid of them soon, Harry needed them. He needed money, and he needed to avoid suspicion. Luckily, it was Sunday, so their absence wouldn't be noticed. He rose his hand and focused on what he wanted them to do. They rose in the same shaky movement, and started to prepare breakfast. Their faces were blank. He would have to work on that, but for now he was full with joy as he commanded them to do as he saw fit.

It was only after he painfully took his first shower of the week that the idea stroke him. He wasn't alone in this. He had seen the other boy making things levitating, he had seen how he was looking at him. He had to go and talk to him, to offer a sanctuary in this house. Here, he knew, they would be safe from the others.

He went into his cousin's room, and started to move the furniture, as it would be his for now on. He chose his cousin's best clothes, dark trousers and a well-cut shirt, admired himself in the mirror. The clothes were obviously too big for him, but he felt better.

He sat on the bed, which he had put just under the window for it was the first time he could look at the street without being chased or cleaning something, and thought about his plans. He had to make a choice. Would he himself enslaved (because he saw no other words to described what he has done), or allow the other boy, his family has he did? And if the boy actually wanted more...

Even if he was only 10, Harry's mind was dark and cautious. Partly because for him it was the only way to survive, and partly because of his own temper, which happened to be calm most of the time, well, except when his life was in a real danger. And even with his abilities, the dilemma he was in was too difficult for him to sort out alone. And, he thought, he had no right to have it. He had already made his choice, and the other boy would have to make it too. He had the power, but he couldn't possibly choose for him what was the best. The only thing he could do, was to offer peace and safety.

He went back downstairs to find the Dursleys casually waiting in line for new orders, eyes in the mist. He waved a hand, and Petunia started to make lunch, as Vernon and his son sat on the couch, looking at the black TV screen. Everything was settled, and Harry put a note to himself in the kitchen, in order not to forget to feed them when he'll came back.

For the first time in his life, he went freely into the street, and even if his leg wasn't still functioning as it should, he enjoyed the walk. He tried to think about everything good he could possibly have in mind, because he wanted to be sure to remain calm while facing the other boy's, he knew that deep down his anger hadn't exploded yet.

He had merely scratched the top.

As he was small, even for his age, he managed to sneak into the other boy's garden. He cautiously watched through the window what was happening inside.

The house was the exact same as Harry's. The boy was standing in the kitchen, making food. He wasn't looking well. Harry could see that he had difficulties moving his back, and therefore his head lowered, always looking at the ground. He was taller than Harry, and had sharper features, but he was just as pale and unhealthily thin. His dark hair were cut in a very strange way, and it took minutes for Harry to understand why: he had a long scar running down on his skull, on the right side of his head. As he turned to grab ingredients, Harry could also notice that one of his eye was entirely white, blinded somehow, while the other was icy gray. If it wasn't for his scars, he would have been handsome, with his thin palish face.

Harry felt his anger come back, and his aura around him grew, causing the garden's flower to fade. The other boy felt it. As he was turning toward Harry, the boy waved his hand, asking him if he could go outside. Slowly, the boy nodded, placing himself so that his father, who was in the living room watching TV, just as everybody in the neighborhood, couldn't see Harry.

Harry heard the boy mutter something about getting the trash out, and the door shutting down in the minute. Harry went into the street, and they just stayed in front of each other, evaluating each other for a few seconds. Then, as Harry didn't feel any bad intentions into the other boy's mind, he got closer to him.

"I'm Harry." he said, in the most friendly voice he could.

"I'm Damien." the other answered, shaking Harry's hand.

Harry could feel that Damien was like him, he could feel the energy running in his veins, and as he looked into Damien's eyes, he knew that the other boy felt it too. He smiled at him, and it was the first real smile that he had given in his life, and he didn't leave his hand. But the smile vanished as he felt the pain into Damien's body.

"Does he hurt you?" He asked coldly.

"Yes. "

There was no need of further explanation. The boy was shaking in fear. Harry nodded and made a sign of the head toward his own house, asking Damien to follow him.

"But I sh-should be back now..." Damien said. His only eye was black of terror.

"You won't regret it. "

Harry's voice didn't leave any room for discussion, but there was sweetness in it. Still holding Damien's hand, he led him to his house, slowly. He didn't want to scare him more than he already was, he was even afraid that the boy would have a heart attack if he was touched by a leave. Somehow, Damien followed him calmly. He had seen Harry before, and he could still see the marks where his shirt let his skin appeared. But, more, he could see something around him, something powerful. He didn't know why he was sure Harry would not hurt him at any cost, but he was. They both felt like a man meeting a compatriot in a far away place.

The door opened before Harry, without him touching it. Damien's jaw dropped. This wasn't strange accidents, this was magic.

They both went to the kitchen, and it was only at this moment that Damien noticed that something was wrong. Nobody was moving except for Harry.

Two plates full of food were on the table, set up, and Harry made a sign for Damien to sit next to him, and the boy obeyed. He was scared by the family. They all had blank stares, and looked like corpses, but the woman was standing behind the counter.

Harry looked at his own with a smirk. At least, the boy didn't run away in the firsts seconds, but he expected that. It took bravery to live in these conditions, or maybe some insanity.

"What happened to them ?" Damien finally asked after he ate all his food, which only took him five minutes as he was quite literally starving.

"It is something I can do. They just don't think anymore, you see, not that they used to."

Damien laughed.

"So they do what you ask? "

"Yup, they do what I order, I can make them do anything. "

Harry looked at the other boy in the eyes:

"And they can't hurt me anymore." he answered to his silent question.

Damien nodded, half scared by Harry, half amazed in front of the possibilities.

"You're lucky..."

"You could be too."

It was the moment. The moment when Damien would decide to join Harry, or not. Harry looked at his new friend anxiously. He waited minutes, but when Damien locked back at him, his eyes were filled with acceptance, and somewhat of joy. He was thinking of revenge.

Harry smiled, and nodded to him.

They had an understanding. They sat silently, finished their plates, and Harry waved his hand for his cousin to wash them. Damien looked at that with admiration.

They started to talk. They were counting their experience, the accidents, and agreed on calling it magic, whatever it was. It was like they were alone in the world, into the silent house in the silent Sunday afternoon street. Eventually, they started talking about their wounds. Damien could heal too but he wasn't as efficient as Harry. He explained that he had lost his eye because his father didn't want to spend money sending him to the doctor as he was sick, and the skull's scar was from an "accident" falling into the stairs. Harry was angry, but mostly relieved. Even without their common experience, the boys would have got along, as they founded themselves finishing each other sentences. It took them a moment to understand that it was mostly because they were somehow reading each other's minds. Well, in fact, Harry was the reader.

It was almost dark when they heard Damien's father voice calling him.

Harry told his friend not to move, and slowly opened the door.

* * *

It took them almost a month to decide what to do with Damien's father. On the one hand, it was hard to manage two houses while going to school, without anyone noticing, but on the second hand they couldn't get rid of him without dooming Damien to an orphanage, as he didn't have any other family.

They decided to train their abilities, they needed to know what they were able to do. Harry was obviously more powerful that Damien, but the other boy had some things to show. He was smart, and had a real talent to foresee what was going to happen. But, and it was far more important, he was able to calm Harry's anger with his only presence. Damien knew how to handle Harry, and the boy was glad for that. It was only the two of them, the others didn't matter.

They hated school, as the other children still treated them as garbage, but now they were together and planning their revenge. They needed a way out.

One day, it became too much. One of the school's children, his name was Paul Nwet, much older than Harry, maybe around 13, decided to bully the boys. He was tall, big, strong, and one could see that it was the only thing he could rely on. He had come across them as they were leaving home, shouting at them.

"Hey freaks!"

They didn't answer. Damien took Harry's hand. Breath, he said silently. Their link had grown enough for both of them to talk by thought if they had a physical contact. It was like Damien always opened his mind for Harry to send messages. Harry took a deep breath, and they hurried. But the other boy didn't look like he was about to let them go. He took a rock, and threw it at Damien, hitting him badly.

The second Harry saw the blood on his friend's face, he lost control. It was the only thing he couldn't stand: someone had hit his family. A non-magic dared hit his brother in front of him. It wasn't only the pain and the fear, now it was also a question of honor, of rightness. It was unfair, all of this was unfair.

You want to do it... he heard.

Yes , he thought, this time I want to do it

He looked into Paul's eyes.

"Pain" he said. His voice was cold as ice.

Immediately, Paul fell on the ground, screaming. Harry's eyes were glowing greed, and his pupils dilated of pleasure as he went along the nerves, burning them one by one. He could feel his own energy around him, like a dark wind. He was powerful.

He didn't notice that he was getting closer to Paul until he was almost stepping on him. The boy was twitching from pain, and Harry could see in his mind that he had gone mad. None of his thoughts were logical, or even complete. A puddle of blood was growing around Paul.

Harry rose his hand put it on Paul's head. He took a deep breath, concentrating. He had to stop this, but he couldn't let the boy go. To tell the truth, he didn't want to. A green light exploded between his hand and the boy's head, and it was all. Paul was dead, even if his legs didn't stop twitching.

Harry didn't know how he did that, he didn't know how he was so sure on how to do that, but the boy was dead indeed. He felt more free somehow, like he got rid of a weight in his mind. He couldn't move. His mind was processing the fact that he had killed the boy. That he had had the power to do so.

The hot summer's wind in his dark hair brought him back to reality.

He turned to Damien. The young man was sitting, watching him with a glitch of fear in his eyes. He nodded, there was no other way of ending this, but he could still see the green light into Harry's eyes, and a smirk curling his mouth. Everything around him seemed to have darkened, as if even the light didn't want to approach the boy. But they were in this together. He couldn't let Harry go, or we would be all alone, if not dead. But he discovered something in him that surprised him according to what he was looking at. Loyalty. At this moment, he decided that he would never go against his friend, as it was for him that he had killed.

He stood up, and concentrate his energy to push the corpse away from the road, into the ditch. Happily, they were alone and no one was living nearby. Harry didn't make a move. He was still thrilled by the sensations.

They didn't talk about it later, and went back to their "normal" life. It was their secret. But Harry found himself sleeping less than he should, not that he had nightmare of any sort, he just couldn't sleep more than a few hours.

Bit by bit, they made Damien's father disappear from his social activities, and one day they send him to a psychiatric hospital, nameless. Even without controlling him, his brain was too burnt for him to be able even to talk, nor think correctly. It seemed to be the best option, and the only one which didn't involve a casual accident.

They kept the Dursleys, as they still needed money to eat, and if Harry's cousin went to disappear, it would be noticed by the school, which was on the edge since Paul's body was found, about a month after he died.

Even if they were careful, they had a good time, and an almost normal family life. Harry found the way to make the Dursleys have facial expressions, and in one or two months, it was almost as if they were still free, on the surface.

Harry and Damien eventually found the way to make objects levitate. The first tries made things explode or fly around the room, but as they learned to control themselves, they managed it. Damien couldn't lift more than a hair, but Harry, as he was close to his 11's birthday, could lift many objects at the same time, he managed once to make their bed levitate. It was obvious that Damien didn't have a lot of power, in fact, he almost didn't have any. Harry suspected that Damien's magic was stuck somewhere because of what he had lived, and he didn't blame him. The boy seemed afraid of his own power. Somehow, he was afraid to become as powerful as Harry, therefore, he wasn't jealous of his brother.

Harry's marks remained too. He couldn't lift his shirt even in front of his friend because of the scars which were running on all of his chest and back. He avoided people he didn't know, and hated skin contact. He could know too much with a simple touch. In fact, only Damien could touch him, because he knew where it hurt and where it was fine.

They talked a lot about the possibility for others like them to exist. They decided to stay in the shadows and hide from the others, as they seem to always attack whatever looked like magic, but if they were others, they couldn't stand to let them grow into the non-magical hands, and live the life they had. The personal anger they felt grew into hate at a much larger scale, but they were smart enough to understand hating everyone didn't make any sense. But it was still words, and they were conscious that they didn't have enough information to do anything, even if they eventually had the power.

They still didn't feel safe, so they always managed to do everything together. They had put two beds side to side into Harry's room. Step by step, the house came to look life theirs, but they never called it home.

It was on the summer of their 11's birthday when Harry received the letter.

As they were reading it, their mouth agape. It was a confirmation of what they had imagined, but it was more. They weren't alone. There was a whole society. But the thing that stroke them was that they didn't understand most of the information, including places they had to go and things they had to buy. They talked about it for hours before Harry was struck by an idea.

"Someone's gonna come" he said, his face brightened by the solution

The other boy looked at him with admiration. Of course, why didn't he thought about that?

"They know who and where you are, he stated, but not about what we can do... I didn't even receive one."

"This mean that they know that we are complete ignorant on whatever they talk about here, declared Harry while he shook the letter. And it may means that they don't know at all about you."

"But it also means that they are complete ignorant of this, gravely said Damien as he pointed at Petunia with his head. "

"They mustn't find out. "

Of course, they both knew that. What they did was wrong, and they didn't want to lose their only chance to escape from the situation, which had been deteriorating week by week. They decided to hide Damien's power, to act like he was only a close friend and a guest. Controlling the Dursley tired Harry, and he was feeling strange, sometimes his scar even hurt. He didn't know where he had it, but from its reaction and the pain he sometimes felt, he and Damien had supposed that it was magical, as in view of the letter, it was effectively question of magic.

"Whomever is going to come here, he is going to have the same type of power as we do..."

"So we need to hide them well" concluded Harry.

Even if they apparently stayed calm; in fact, they were panicking. Under the pressure, it only took them an hour or two to clean up the house, making it look like the family still lived here and Damien was only a guest. They had to do the other house too, just in case, and it took them almost half of the night as it had become very dusty. They were good to cover themselves. They put food in both of the fridges, undid the beds of both houses, checked on everything, starting the electricity and the water.

They had decided to lock the Dursleys in their room, which used to be the couple's chamber, and to reduce the magic control that Harry had on them at a minimum range, hoping that the witch that was going to come wouldn't notice. Then, they waited, all the night on the couch, watching TV in a desperate attempt to change their mind. They had no remorse, they had done what needed to be done (mostly), but at this moment it was them against the world, and the world seemed to know too many things about them already. They hated the unknown, and they hated that this very feeling looked too much like what had made the others cruel towards them. But they were together, so they remained calm, doing things as if they were natural, even if they were looking at every second for a pair of unknown eyes to look at them. Eventually, they fell asleep.

Harry found himself in a dusty room. A bathroom, actually, gloomy and dirty like the ones in abandoned houses. There was a mirror, but he could't quite recognize himself in it. The man that was in front of him didn't look like him, quite older, he looked to be around 25, but Harry could sense that he wasn't. He had sharp, aristocratic features, black hairs, he was handsome, but something in him was disturbing.

His eyes. Harry couldn't move away of their crimson stare. Strangely, he didn't feel scared. No, he had the impression that he had always knew the man, even if he couldn't say from where. It was something at the back of his head. His reflection was looking at him with interest, studying his face like he was a strange insect and needed to decide if he was worth of attention. None of them talked for a moment. Harry felt a dizziness on the back of his mind, an intrusion. Focusing on everything he had, he pushed it away as gentle as he could. The imprint of the intruder felt familiar, and Harry didn't want to be aggressive, but he couldn't quite control the forces to defend himself. The expression on the man's face changed: he looked pleased, surprised, and actually quite friendly, even if he looked more like the kind of men you have to respect than those you can be close to.

A man will come to your house , the man said, do not trust him.

The man's voice was warm, but sharp. Harry felt his scar burning, and somewhere behind them he heard a woman scream. He nodded, more confused than scared. He opened his mouth to answer.

Suddenly, he was overflown his a storm of images, sounds, information that came from somewhere else, about things he couldn't have had imagine. They were all about an old man he didn't know. It took a second, but the man's face remained into his memory. His skull was about to explode under the pressure. He couldn't make a sound.

He blenched. His scar was burning and his chick hurt. It took a moment to realize that Damien had just slapped him. The other boy was looking at him with a mix of worries, interrogations and fear. Feeling something running on his face, Harry found out that his scar was bleeding. He ran to the bathroom to stop it, be when he found the bandages it was already gone. He washed himself, changed his clothes and went back downstairs.

" What the hell was that! " gasped Damien

"I don't know, Damy, I don't know."

Harry was shaken. He sat on the couch to think. He wasn't sure about what was real and what wasn't. Inspecting his mind, he found the image of the old man.

"I had... a vision I think, something like that. It said that an old man is gonna come, and that we can't trust him."

"Didn't you just dreamed? I mean a nightmare, and hit your face somewhere..."

"We will know. I have a very clear image of this man. It felt so real... If he is the one that come, I'll do a sign for you, and we'll know what to do. "

Damien nodded. He had stopped wondering a long time ago about the possibilities of things to happen around his new brother, and all he could do was trust him. And none of them knew where their abilities stopped; they had to take every chance.

"It's not like we were going to tell everything to the first witch we met" he said ironically smiling, his only icy eye sparkling in amusement.

"It doesn't look like a good idea indeed" agreed Harry.

"And, may I say that I'm not aware of anything on magic or else. "

"Do I even know you? "Asked Harry, a malicious glimmer in his green eyes.

He was reassured that fear had gone from Damien's face. He couldn't possibly manage to get out of the situation without him, and in the end, he didn't even want to. To be alone, and he knew it better than everyone else, was the worst thing imaginable. Being alone was dooming himself to weakness and confusion, and Harry was a child that despised both.

They didn't even finish their breakfast when Harry felt something at the back of his head. Magic. He made a sign to inform Damien and a few second later someone was knocking at the door.

Harry went to open it.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

It was him. There was no doubt possible. A man out of age, with a grand-fatherly face, a big white beard braided with elegance, a crooked-broken nose and sparkling baby-blue eyes looking at Harry behind his half-moon glasses, and mostly, the most fabulously horrifying robe one could have ever seen. He didn't even try to understand how the man was fixing the flashy orange, deep blue and pink while still looking honorable. He blinked and didn't have to fake his surprise as he intended to do so. The man was smiling at him with confidence.

"Hello, Harry, he said, May I come in?".

Dumbledore. The name flashed into Harry's head. He could almost hear the other man again, he could almost feel his crimson eyes on him.

 _Do not trust him._

Harry let the man in.

"Harry, who's this?" He heard Damien said behind him.

"I don't know, he is not a friend of the family, but he knows my name." Harry said lightly.

Damien nodded. He looked at the man with an apparent curiosity. Harry invited the man to sit on the couch.

"Do you want anything, Mr..."

"Dumbledore, the man said while he held his hand for Harry to shake it. Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Harry took his hand, preparing himself to keep a blank face. He does look like him... He heard the man think. He was curious, cautious. He was looking for something. He knew more tha-  
Harry broke the contact, partly because of the convenience, partly because he had what he wanted.

" I'll take orange juice if you please."

 _That's almost cannibalism_ , Harry thought half amused half horrified.

He could feel the power of the man by the simple fact that he had made himself at home in a minute, without thinking for a minute about his own security. Turning his back to the man to take the juice in the fridge, he looked at Damien. _Danger_.

Without changing his own expression, Damien stood still, playing the innocent little boy. It would have been perfect if the scar on his skull ans his bony face didn't make him look like a wounded soldier- well more like a dead and resurrected one. Somehow, he managed to make his face look pleasant and friendly. He was very good at that.

Harry gave the glass to Dumbledore and sat graciously in the opposite chair. The numerous wounds he had all over himself had made him aware of his body, and he controlled every part of it. Even with a shirt and jean (he couldn't wear T-shirts even during summer because of the scars on

his arms), he managed to be elegant, which was disturbing considering his age.

Dumbledore was looking at Damien with curiosity before returning his attention on Harry who was patiently waiting in the armchair.

"If you are here to see my uncle and aunt, I'm afraid that they have left for the week- they won a trip in a newspaper's contest."

And they did win the contest, Harry had made sure of it. How sad, they had missed the plane and tomorrow, they will be waiting at the airport. Such a coincidence, nobody will be able to recognize them, in a crowd...

On the corner of his eye, he saw Damien smirk discreetly at the perfectly well-placed lie.

"Well, Harry m'boy, I am here to speak with you, about a letter... but it may be better if your friend went home for a moment?"

Harry had a shiver at the grandfatherly voice calling him my boy. Now that was insulting. His face didn't change from a polite curiosity, and he nodded at Damien. Of course, the other boy will not be far away.

"So, as I was saying, you've received a letter from Hogwarts a few days ago. I am the headmaster of this school. It is a school for very special persons, just like you." Dumbledore declared.

Harry hardly contained his burst of laughter. The man did think he was stupid, his name and titles were on the very letter that was sent to him, along with " _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ ".

"You're a wizard, Harry. See the things you can sometimes do, the strange things when you're happy, or scared? Well, that's it! " Continued the old man in his grand-fatherly voice. Harry could sense a bit of excitation in the sentence, like the man had waited to announce it in the most theatrical way possible. He looked content, and Harry gave him a bright smile, looking like a child at Christmas. The only reason he didn't show his real amusement to the man was the warning he had, and the feeling that the man was more than he showed.

"But I don't have any money for the school, Sir, and I don't think my family..."

"Don't worry about that, m'boy. You have a very well filled vault in Gringotts – the wizards bank. Moreover, you were registered at Hogwarts since your birth."  
Harry's heart missed a bit. He was overflowed with the implications of this little sentence that the man had thrown with such little care. He managed to keep the amazed smile on his face.

"But how?" he asked. His voice wasn't as joyful as he wanted it to be.

" Well your parents were wizards of course."

Without letting Harry the time to process the information, the old man continued on the same tone:

"Well, I will send a professor of the school to help you into the wizarding world before the classes start. We wouldn't want you to lose yourself while trying to attend school, would we?"  
Even if his first reflex was to refused, Harry nodded. The man was going to send him another wizard, probably someone that he trusted, and hopefully someone who could give Harry information, not only about the entire world he had to discover, but about how Dumbledore wanted him to discover it.

" I have a question, Sir." he asked as the old man was leaving.

" Of course m'boy, what is it?"

" Why did you came here? I mean, you could have sent someone else, and I sure I'm not the only one in my position, and you surely have many other thing to do, so..."  
Harry did his best to look intimidated, eyes on the floor, the back arched. It worked, as the old man put pitiful eyes on him, at sat back on the couch.

" You see, Harry, you're not any wizard. You didn't some extraordinary things when you were just a baby. Tell me, do you know how your parents died?"

"A car accident."

Harry knew it wasn't the truth, of course. He had had access to some information into his uncle head, but the man didn't know much more than: _"freaks killed for what they were, gladly_ ".

Dumbledore shook his head negatively.

" They were killed, like many people at that time, by the most powerful Dark Mage. And you, as a baby, you destroyed him. He gave you your scar. You are a savior in the wizarding world, Harry, and I believe everybody already know your name. You are our Golden Boy, aren't you?"  
Harry couldn't say anything, so he nodded. There was too much to think about, and every information made him want to break everything around him. He wasn't pleased, he wasn't pleased at all. And he knew that his magic was going to slip out of him anytile soon, and maybe wake the Dursleys up.

The old man had to go. Now.

He sent all of his feeling to Damien, hoping that it would help him containig his magic a little longer, and that the boy could think of a distraction. Only a few seconds after that, he heard a knock at the door, and the boy came into the house.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but I forgot to take the book my father lent you the other day..." he said politely.

Harry couldn't do anything else than admire his brother's capacity to act.

" It's OK, young boy, I was leaving." Dumbledore said while heading towards the door." I'll see you in September, Harry", he finally said cheerfully.

Something fell on the floor above. Ignoring it the best he could, Harry held his hand to say goodbye.

That went well, he heard the man thought, he might be useful...

Breaking the link, the old man left the house with a last Santa-like smile, his outrageous robes flying around him.

Harry let himself slide on the closed door. Stuff were breaking themselves everywhere in the house, and a black smoke was surrounding him. He was hyperventilating from panic, hitting the floor with his hand in a desperate attempt to calm himself.

It took him a long time to be able to rise of the ground again, but he did. He looked at the

surrounding mess with astonishment. Furniture were upside down, the dishes broken everywhere leaving pieces of glass and porcelain all around the floor, stuck on the walls and even the ceiling.

Harry closed his eyes.

He knew it wasn't him. It wasn't his magic which had done that. His magic wasn't this messy, this brutal, even from panicking. But it wasn't safe to make it notice to Damien, the boy was positively terrorized by what had just happened. The boy was shaking, walking all around, scratching his arms, muttering without end. Black veins ran along his neck and jaw, and drops of sweat dripped on his forehead. He wasn't looking well, and Harry felt remorse hitting his heart. It was his fault; he shouldn't have sent his panic to the other boy. He couldn't take it.  
Damien what _sick_. It was obvious, but Harry didn't know how much before now.

Harry took his brother's hand and helped him sit on the couch, a hand on his back, whispering what he knew to be what he wanted to hear. The boy's mind was a mess, a chaotic storm of power and raw emotions.

"It was a close call..." he said when the other boy was finally able to listen.

"Yeah, and it _may_ be a good idea to clean up the mess."

Harry was relieved. As long as Damien was able to do sarcasm, he could still manage.

He went upstairs to unlock the Dursley's room. It was a mess in here too. The Dursleys had fell on each other, and had obviously tried to crawl and open the door. A close call indeed.

He made them go downstairs and clean up the house. Luckily, nothing irreplaceable was broken, and they could hide the wall's hole with furniture.

Harry crossed Petunia's eyes. She was the only one that remained conscious, even if she didn't have any control on her body. It was her punishment. She liked to look, anyway. Harry didn't thought that Damien had noticed it, not that he wanted him to.

When it was all over midday had passed, so the boys decided to made themselves a meal before discussing on the information they had.

"So, what was the trigger?" Asked Damien, his voice firm again.

"Many things. I'll start by the beginning. So, we had guessed right, and so had my vision – or whatever it was. The man, Dumbledore, is the headmaster of the wizarding school, in which I am supposed to attend as I was registered the day I was born."

" But it means..."

" That my parents were wizards too, yes, I know, and the man confirmed that. It happened that they didn't die in a car accident, as my dear family repeated to me. They were killed by what the man called a Dark Mage..."

" Harry, I'm sorry..."

"It's ok, I'm ok, that is not the problem. I knew they were lying, I just didn't know the truth. This fact gives us many information: there is a clear distinction, if not for everybody, but at least for the man, between "dark", and I guess "light" magic, or politic, or whatever."

" Yeah, it makes sense. But Are you sure he said the truth?"

"He didn't lie, but it doesn't mean that he said the truth."

" I see. Do you have the name of this Dark Mage, because he might certainly be a threat..."  
The boy's voice made his intentions clear: a threat isn't a threat if it is conveniently annihilated. Harry laughs at his brother's determination.

"Aha, and I have no doubt that you could protect me very well. But no, tha old man implied that he was dead, he said that I destroyed him, when I was a baby. And yes, that's where thing get difficult. So the man killed my parents, I don't know why, but let's just suppose for the moment that he was an evil man or anything like that, somehow I destroedy him, getting out with only a scar on the forehead. Apparently, it made me some sort of legendary hero in his world, the man said " that Golden Boy".

" Aaaand I see the problem."

" Yes, it means that people will have expectations towards me. It means that they know things about me, or that they think they know things. I will be under the spotlights no matter what I do."

Damien nodded. That was a problem; especially when you had as many things to hide and as many tempers to calm than Harry. Not even mentioning the voices.

" But there is something else."  
Damien looked at him with frank curiosity. It wasn't like Harry to be so touched by something, even if in the matter, facts were important and personal.

" If my parents were witches and I am a celebrity, the only way I ended up here is that someone wanted me to be here."

Harry's voice slap in the air. He was furious, and calm, and it was the worst combination. Damien felt a shiver in his spine. Harry could be very scary, but when you had seen his shadows, he became death itself. Damien almost felt pity for the person that had done this to him – almost.  
Harry waved his hand to change the subject, as the Dursleys were cleaning the table in a perfect synchronization.

"Anyway, a professor will come here to help me to get along with this new world. I will ask, but I don't think that you will be allowed to come at all. We have to think about what we will do after."

The inevitable separation was a pit between them. None of them knew how to deal with life without the other, well not anymore.

"We will keep contact." declared Damien " We cannot plan anything if we don't know anything about where we are going, so I suggest reporting this conversation to after your little trip."  
Harry nodded. He didn't think he could get so sad at the very idea of the separation, and he felt the same thing into his brother's mind.

"So we wait."

"So we wait." answered Damien in echo.

Silence fell on them like a cloth. They stayed, facing each other, as the warm summer's wind entered in the room by the open windows behind Harry, the Dursleys in standing in line as usual while they didn't have any instructions.

"I'm going for a walk" Harry said finally. It was obvious that he needed to be alone.

" See you."

Harry waved his hand and left the house.

He went along the empty streets where every house was the same. Everything was calm, not

a bird in a tree, not a man in the street. Of course, the disappearance of Paul had made a shock in the neighborhood, mostly because nobody could determine the cause of the death, and even a month after, there wasn't many children that were allowed to play outside on their own. Harry walked to a park, and sat on a bench. He needed to think calmly, to take decisions quickly, but mostly, he needed to keep his mind clear from useless emotions. A woman in her mid 30s was sitting on the other side of the park, her son was playing with another kid on one of the structures.

She looked bored as hell. He wished he could be bored as hell.

She greeted him with a movement of the head. If she knew what he was, she would have been horrified. She would have taken her screaming children, telling them that he was dangerous and abnormal. But she didn't knew, and she greeted him calmly, as the only adult in the area. Harry smirked at the irony. By the fact that he existed, he had enemies. And he wondered how many children didn't make it until they had the chance he received the letter, how many children were sick like Damien, how many children were doomed because there was no letter for them. The marks that they had, the same that he had all over himself.

But this woman, in front of him wasn't threatening. She was tacking care of two kids, and they looked happy.

Harry shook his head and sat back on the bench. He sighed, and decided to went back home.

" I think we should do something to relax." He said to Damien who was watching TV absently. " How about a park or something. Spend time together, I mean, out of here..."

" That's a fucking good idea, brother!" The other boy exclaimed, already reaching for his coat. "How about a Zoo? After all, you were supposed to go there with them, that day..."

"I like the irony." Harry said with a smirk, while looking the Dursleys into their chamber.  
It was quite long to go to the Zoo on foot, and they didn't have any money to spend on bus or taxi. But they did enjoy the walk. Of course, it became odd when approaching the town, and passing more people, they attracted attention. Well, Damien attracted attention. He used to be very ashamed about his face, his blind eye and scar, but now, he stood upright and supported the gaze of anyone who dared fix him. He told Harry once that his face was the proof of how different he was, and that for now it should make him proud. He survived it. They both did.

The zoo was overcrowded, as expected, and they both sight at the entrance.

"Two tickets, please, ma'm. " Politely said Harry while giving her the money.

"And where are your parents, or accompanist, young boy?"

The woman was a grandma, but not the fine type. More the ones that scream about how degenerated was this generation while holding their little dog and their bad.  
Damien faked a sad look.

"We have none ma'm." He said. " They are in heaven."

"Oh my poor boys, I'm sorry! Here's your tickets."

The orphan thing always worked, and Harry suspected that it was mostly because it wasn't a lie.

They enjoyed seeing the giraffes, and lions, but the thing Harry liked the most was the reptilians. Damien never fully understood this fascination, but it was one in too many things he couldn't understand in this world, so he didn't mind.

Because of this, they went to the vivarium. It was huge, and filled with snakes of all colors and shapes. Harry was so exited that he stuck his face against the windows to have a better look, and Damien watched him with amusement. It was one of the rare moment he could see Harry actually behaving like a child, and he allowed himself to be won over excitement.

Harry stopped in front of one of the biggest cages. A gigantic snake was sleeping inside, its pale green scales glimmering under the artificial light. It felt wrong, somehow.

 **"** **I know what it is to be locked in a cage..."** He said softly.

The snake looked at him, like his voice had awakened him. Harry watched it in shock.

 **"** **Can you hear me?"** he said, unbelieving that he was actually talking to a snake. The snake nodded its triangular face.

 **"** **I didn't know snakes could talk... Do you talk to many people?"** The snake said no from the head. If Harry didn't know about his magical possibilities, he would have thought he had lost it. _Damien, you should come and see that!_ He said mentally.

He was amazed by the snake, waiting for his brother to come to see if he could talk to it as well when a child pushed him on the floor.

"Look!" the child screamed "The snake is awake!" And he knocked the glass repetitively.

Harry could see the aggressivity in the snake's eyes. He was annoyed. By the child, but the sound of his screams, by the fact that he had been thrown to the ground without even a look.  
The glass disappeared. The child fell into the water while the snake escaped, slowly getting out of the cage. It turned its face toward Harry, which was still on the floor.

 **"** **Thank you, little speaker. What is your name?"** It said.

 **"** **Harry Potter."**

The snake looked at harry like it had seen the devil for the first time, then shook its head.

 **"** **I'm Nagini. I'll talk about you to my master.** **"** It said while slithering away.

Harry nodded, not even thinking about the fact that he was talking to a snake in front of everybody. He saw his brother smirking at the imprisoned boy, and Harry burst of laughter. His brother helped him to go back on his feet and they left as discreetly as possible. They went straight back home, talking about what just happened, mostly mocking the child. He had had what he deserved, and no harm was done to anyone. Once at home, they ate pizza and watched films. Harry's birthday was in a week, and they couldn't stop talking about that, so much that even the incident was forgotten. They finally fell asleep as usual, meaning on the couch in a very unnatural position, while the Dursleys were still standing in the kitchen, waiting for orders.

The next week, they heard someone knock at the door again. Of course, they had felt him coming, and everything was prepared. Harry had consolidated his hold on the Dursleys in order to make them look alive; being absent conveniently two times was kind of suspect. Plus, he wanted to test the reactions of the witch who was supposed to introduce him to the magical world.  
Harry went again to open the door.

It took a moment for him to understand that a wall didn't grow in front of his house, but that it was a gigantic man standing on the landing. Harry quickly let the "man in.

"Hello, Harry." The man said.  
He had to lower his head to go through the door. He had black big buffy and shaggy beard and hair, and his clothes could make one's wonder if he didn't kill a cow just minutes ago to put its skin on himself.

"Who are you?" Harry made Vernon said, behind him. The uncle did look like horrified and shocked that someone dared pass his door without conforming to his idea of how tall someone could be, and Harry thought that it was one of his best works.

"My name is Rubeus Hagrid, the hunting guard and guardian of keys at Hogwarts, Sir. I'm here to take Harry to buy the furniture he will need."

Vernon moved forward the man.

" He shall not go into this wicked place to learn magical treats! I won't allow it!"

" He will go to the best wizarding school, Hogwarts, which is directed by the best headmaster it has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore!"

" I will not let an old fool..."

"Do. Not. Insult. Dumbledore. In. Front. Of. Me." The giant said, threatening uncle Vernon with his pink umbrella.

Well, that was clear. The old man had sent his little pet to fetch Harry, and the boy didn't think that this giant had more autonomy in his speech that uncle Vernon, but at least he didn't really look threatening. More like a big teddy bear with too much attachment for, presumably, people that had took care of him. He made Vernon step back and grumbling in the kitchen, while Petunia was still looking at Hagrid in a distinguished horror, holding her son against her.

To control the three of them at the same time and make them do such complicated actions was tiring and harry felt his control slip. Already, his cousin's eyes were empty.

Luckily, the giant turned around.

"Come, Harry. Unless you want to say, of course." He said with amusement.

"Sir, can my friend come with us?"

Damien was just next to Harry.

"Is he a muggle?" The giant asked with concern.

"Muggle?"

" Non-magical folks."

He saw Damien tense under the insult.

" Well I guess _that's_ what I am, then." He said calmly.

They had taken the decision to hide Damien the night before. The boy didn't want to make his magic grow, and his power terrified him as much as the, well, muggles disgusted him.

"I'm afraid he cannot, Harry."

"OK, sir" Harry said. He said goodbye to Damien, made discreetly the Dursleys hide in the kitchen, and went out with Hagrid.

They went to London, and entered into a dusty tavern called the Leaky Cauldron. Even if Harry didn't see how a tavern could contain what he needed to attend school, he followed Hagrid without hesitation.

The place was filled with people – wizards, judging by their robes and pointed hats, which were discussing around tables lighted by candles.

 _Don't they have electricity?_ Harry asked himself. He couldn't understand: the place would have been welcoming with a few more lights, and if not windows, a single lamp would have made it. But no, it had to be candles. Well, it gave the place an atmosphere...

" Hagrid!" exclaimed a man behind the counter. " Same as usual?"

"No, no, Tom, I'm in business trip for Hogwarts. I'm tacking Mr Potter here to the Diagon Alley!"

Hagrid tried to put his gigantic hand on Harry's back, and the boy barely avoided it by a step on the side. Hagrid didn't seem to notice it.

"By Merlin! That's Harry Potter!" Yelled Tom.

It took every control Harry had not to kill the man. Many witches came to greet him and

shake his hand. He composed his face to the more polite expression, and responded with care. So, that was how much he was famous. He didn't realize it before. This was the best cover he could hope for. He was hidden under the spotlights. Welcome back, they said, I can't believe I can finally meet you, they said. They loved him, well, they loved his image, his legend. What did Dumbledore said? Yes, that was it. The Golden Boy.

He hated that title. He was feeling trapped, but in the same time, he knew that it was his way out of anything. He wasn't the Golden Boy.  
Be he could fake a bit of it.

He noticed that all the eyes were glaring at his scar. He will have to hide it carefully.

Finally, a tall man with a purple turban came to him.

"He-hello, Mist-ster Potter." He said.

" Professor Quirell! I didn't notice you!" shouted Hagrid.

The professor nodded before turning back his attention to Harry. The boy felt his scar warming. It wasn't painful, but it was reacting. He rose an eyebrow.

" Good evening professor Quirell, it is a pleasure to meet you." He said, his voice sweet as silk. He held his hand, and Quirell shook it. The man's hand, which appeared to be shaking an instant before, became a firm grip.

Two crimson eyes looked at him for an instant, from inside Quirell's mind.

Harry's heart missed a beat, but his face didn't make a move. Quirell bowed his head.

"S-same, Mister Pot-potter." He said.

"Well, I think Hagrid and I should get going, but I'm waiting to see you at school, professor." Harry said, keeping his own head as straight as humanly possible. Even in his muggle clothes, he did look aristocratic at this instant, and his eyes were slightly glowing in this unnatural green. In the penumbra of the room, the effect couldn't be missed. Quirell smirked discreetly.

Hagrid, however, was leading the way to the pub's backyard, without noticing anything or taking time to the least politeness. After correctly saying goodbye, Harry followed him.

Hagrid tapped a design on the wall's bricks, and they started to deviate from each other, revealing a big crowded street. That was it: the wizarding world.

 _Welcome back, Harry_. He heard.

 _Thank you stranger in my head_ , he thought.

Anyway, he had to get rid of Hagrid, as soon as possible. He only needed some information, and then space, freedom, and surely not a hand constantly trying to touch his back to push him forward.

He waited for Hagrid to show him the different shops, and most importantly Grigott, before planning his escape: the man wasn't bad, but god was he slow and he couldn't be missed in the crowd given how tall he was.

" I'm sorry Hagrid." Harry said in his most child-like voice. " But can't I go shopping alone? I know you made the displacement for me, but, you know, it's an adventure..."

"Alright, alright, I understand. Just, don't go to Knockturn Alley." The giant responded with a bit of a hurry. " It is very infamous, and filled with bad people, you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

" Then go and have fun! Meet me on your way back at the pub, I shall escort you home, alright?"

"Yes." Harry nodded vividly. He didn't think it would be that easy to get rid of the man, even for an instant, but Hagrid seemed to be the type of person always thinking at two things at the same time, confusing both and finally never understanding a thing fully. Well, it wasn't quite his fault.

Harry made is way to Gringott, the first thing he needed was to know his resources.  
He entered in the biggest hall he had ever seen, well even if it wasn't that difficult as he almost never got out of the Durleys's. But this was huge, and overflowed with signs of wealth, marble and gold everywhere on the walls, chandeliers of crystal on the ceiling. The luxury of the place was outstanding. Harry was a bit intimidated, but he walked towards to the closest counter as if he owned the place.

"Excuse me Sir. " He said to the strange creature that was behind it. He chose not to wonder what it was, as long as it looked civilized, but he took note to look it up later. The creature made him wait before rising its eyes.

"How can I help you? " It said with a nasal voice.

"I'm Harry Potter, and I'd really appreciate if you could show me how to access my vault, Sir."

"And does Mister Potter have his key?" The creature answered with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sorry Sir I wasn't informed that I would need a key to access it. Is there any other way...?"

"Well, I guess we can find something. Follow me, please."

The creature disappeared behind the counter and made another apparition near to a little door on the right. Harry followed it into the corridors of lights wood and marble to a little room, which appeared to be an office. They sat at each extremity of the desk. The little creature- it was at most the size of a 7 years old- handed him a paper, with his name on it, and a little and magnificently engineered knife.

"If you could put a drop of your blood on the paper, Mr Potter, I shall be able to verify your identity and therefore to give you access to your vault and properties."  
Harry nodded and obeyed. He cut his finger and let a drop of blood fall over it, then the creature took the paper back.

"As I see you are indeed Mr Potter, and that it is your first visit at Grigott, do you want us to check on your properties and titles too?"

"If you please, Sir." Harry's voice was firm but he was ecstatic. So he had more than money, and something made him think that he wasn't quite supposed to have access to all of these information.

"This," said the creature while holding a paper, " is the resume of your vaults at Gringott. If you may please wait, I shall be back with the other information."

Harry nodded again and took the paper; he didn't know what to said. He wasn't expecting that, but the more he looked at the situation, the more possibilities he could see.

The creature left quickly and he started reading.

He actually had many vaults in the bank, which seemed to be reunited in one as the one that was in charge of them was...

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry gazed at the paper furiously, and the thing almost burnt right away. The man had taken him money. Harry had access to the Potter's vault, the Evan's vault, as a legacy, and a special vault from the ministry of magic for " The-Boy-Who-Lived". In the three of them, money was missing. Harry was glad that the little creature had left because the expression on his face at this very moment was nothing but pleasant. Yes, he was now rich, and it was a relief, but the old man had dared to take money, his parents money on the top of that.

 _Calm..._  
He took a deep breath.

The little creature came back quickly, holding files into his little and abnormally thin hands. It gave him the files.

"You are eligible to the names of Potter, Evans, Peverell and Griffondor. You are the only heir of the Houses of Potter and Griffondor, therefore, you posses the Potter manor and every Grinffondor's properties and vaults; the amount of the fortunes and details are in the file. As you are an orphan, which mean that there is no Lord Potter, Griffondor and Peverell alive, you can right away proclaim your lordship, but you will only have access to your chairs in the winzemagot at the age of 15, and eligible at 17. Do you want to proclaim your Lordship, Mr Potter?"  
The boy was stunned. He knew he didn't understand half of the implications of what was given to him this day. He had to be careful.

"I have a few questions first." He said attempting to keep his voice calm.

"If you please."

"First, I see here that Albus Dumbledore is, or was in charge of my wealth. I need to know if he can still make moves on my accounts, and if he can see what I decide to do on it. Then, I need to now the charges and goods that the title of lordship brings to me, how theses titles works, what are my right on the properties, and finally, as you may tell by my outfit, I was raised by muggles, therefore I do not know the values of money here and cannot evaluate the numbers you gave me."  
The creature blinked. It didn't expect that from an 11 years old, that was for sure. But it didn't expect the heir of two of the most important pure-blood houses to be raised by muggles either.

It sat back on it's chair.

"Well, Mr Potter. You may want first to choose a private counselor, which mean a goblin, such as I, whowill follow your file specifically and, of course be held incommunicado."

" This would be great, Sir."

The Goblin left and another, dressed in richer clothes and a monocle on his right eye came and sat in front of Harry.

" My college informed me that you had a few questions. As you are one of our greatest clients, under the name of the Potter, Peverell and Griffondor, I found it more suitable for me to answer then and ... to help you in the future. I am Greatflow, the current director of this place. So, let's start by the commencement. The wizard's money use galleons, gold, silver and bronze. Ten Bronze equal one silver, etc. One bronze is 5 of the muggle money you use, do you follow me?"  
Harry nodded while trying to record every of those information in his memory. He was sure he could read about it and learn it more properly after, But the fact that he was in front of the bank director made him aware that he had to make a good impression, for whatever he would need him for later.

"About your Keeper." Greatflow continued in the same nasal voice that he seemed to share with all of his kind. " He still has a hand on your account until your political majority, which mean 15. But, he will not be informed right away of what you are doing, and if I may say, the mail may have some... retard in due time."

Harry gave him a frank smile. The goblin didn't like Dumbledore, or he liked the interest of the best client on the two, but anyway this was a new card on his hand that he could appreciate justly.

"Now, we will talk about your titles and properties. Claiming your title allow you to have the name, rights on the house and the political sieges that come with it. You will learn about the subtleties of that later, I think but I can explain them to you now."

"No thanks. Thank you Sir but I think I will do without it as I am only 11 and can have my rights on this, if I understood well, only at my 15's birthday. We already have a lot to talk about."

"Indeed, Mr Potter, indeed. So, if you claim your Lordship nobody else will be able to claim it anymore as you will be declared the active hear of the house. Nobody can know that you claimed it unless you decide so or unless he or she come to Gringott claiming the same title. Of course, at your majority, you will have to handle the house and its founds. So, before we talk about the manor, do you want to claim the Lordship of the houses Potter, Griffondor and Peverell?"

The Gobelin had said that without even breathing, and it was probably what had gave him his name. He considered the possibility of letting this go, it would be easier at least for his headache. But he will obviously need it. Titles means power and social consideration, and for now on, he didn't have any of these two. He agreed.

"Give me your hand, Harry James Potter, Lord of the houses Potter, Griffondor and duke of Peverell."

Harry gave the Gobelin his hand, and after cutting again his finger, which had already healed, the creature put it on a paper almost black with writing. Then he took a box in a drawer of this desk. The box was golden and deep blue, with his initials craved on it. He opened the box and saw three rings inside. The goblin made him sign for him to put them on his finger. The first one was a simple translucid ring, probably in crystal, with a triangle relief. A soft light glow from the triangle while the ring was adjusting itself on his finger. Harry stood fascinated for a moment, but then again, he didn't want to look like a fool, or even worst, a child. Then, he took the second which was much more pretentious all gold with ruby lions all around it, and a big blazon on the top, a griffon, harry guessed, roaring at... well its enemies. Again, the ring adjusted itself to his finger, but without any light or such. Then, he took the third one with all the care and precautions he could. He may have had the names of the two other, and they were the proof of his birth's rights, but this one was his father's. It was his real family, it was his name, it was all he didn't know about himself. It was toward this that he felt responsibility. The ring was in a bright silver, with the letter P simply carved on it. By only putting it on his finger, Harry felt warmer. He was at his place, he was where he should always have been.  
The goblin that had waited in silence talked again, on the same tone:

"Good. Now, we shall talk about your manor."

When Harry finally got out of the bank, he was tired, content, the head full of plans and the sun was already high on the bright blue sky. He took minutes on the porch to calm himself and think logically. Yes, that was it. The first things he needed was clothes in order to blend into the crowd; right now he had a big "muggle" written on his forehead, just next to " The-Boy-Who-Lived-Please-Come-And-Shake-My-Hand". He went to the finest shop, as indicated by Mr Greatflow, the most discreetly possible.

The shop was a big room, decorated with taste, with dark wood on the floor, deep brown walls pierced with windows with colored glass. A tall man with the darkest skin Harry had ever seen was sitting behind a desk, in the middle of the shelves.

With the help of the man, Harry bought a complete wardrobe in green and dark tones for himself, and an other one in blue and dark for Damien, he knew his sizes by heart as he was the one of the two making clothes when money started to ran out. He asked the seller to apply a spell which will allow the clothes to adjust themselves to him or Damien as they grew. He was relieved that this spell existed; his brother didn't seem to stop growing. He was now dressed in a beautiful but simple black tunic with silver details, black trousers, elegant boots and a cape whose collar rose up to half his neck. It wasn't that he didn't like colors, but black was discreet, genteel, could be worn with everything and it gave him the look of an adult. Now, he could allow himself to attract attention.  
Then he went to buy a cauldron, chose an owl, as it was recommended and gave it the name of Onyx, as it was all black, excepted for one silver feather on its right wing. It was truly beautiful. Then, he went to have his eyes treated. He noticed that without glasses, his eyes were even more stunning. Not in the beautiful kind of stun, but he didn't need to be beautiful, he needed to be taken seriously.

He had to buy a bag with an extension charm, before he literally raided the library. He bought what he needed for school, plus books about magical plants, creatures, witches, history of magic, everything he was wondering about. He was looking for something about the different laws on the muggles (even he didn't know what he could or couldn't do he was pretty sure that if someone knew he would be send to jail for the very least), when a blonde haired boy came next to him, picking a book.

" Excuse me, but I think that you took the wrong edition." Harry said politely, giving the boy the right book. He had a thin face, pale like he never got out and he was dressed in what Harry knew to be the finest fabric, his outfit could in itself be quite astonishing of he wasn't wearing it in such uncomfortable manner. Next to him was a man, older, his father no doubt, with longer hair of the same color, and a supercilious expression towards everything and everyone. He was holding a can of black wood with metallic snake's head knob.

"Thank you!" the boy said in the high peach voice of the boy which want to look more important and mannered than they are. " I'm Draco Malfoy." He continued, holding his hand.

"It's a pleasure, Draco Malfoy." He said with a bright smile while he shook the boy's hand, which appeared to be only thinking to every way of not disappointing his father. "I'm Harry Potter."

He saw at the same time a bright exited smile appeared on the boy's face, and his father tense immediately. It was actually kind of funny, and he didn't expect to see both extremes in the same room, on faces that were so similar.

"Harry potter!" shouted the boy. "I can't believe I have met you! So, you are going to Hogwarts with me, that's going to be great!"

"Calm down, Draco, behave yourself, please. Let the "Boy-Who-Lived" breath. " Interrupted the older Malfoy, one could feel the quotation mark in his voice.

"It's perfectly alright, Mr Malfoy, but I prefer to be called Harry. I don't consider a compliment a nickname pointing the fact that I had the luck to survive while others died. I don't even understand what I should be proud about in my fame." Harry said, the voice sharp as a razor, but still in the most perfect politeness.

Mr Malfoy rose an eyebrow. Harry had chosen his words well. After hearing that, no one could tell who he was pointing to under the word of _others_. And no one was expecting such a politeness and word game from a boy this age, especially the Golden Boy.

The fact was that Harry had a high consciousness of that.

"We shall see each other at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy." The boy continued, switching to his sweet and precious tone. "But now, I shall be going, I have many things to buy yet. Farewell, Mr Malfoy."

As he said the word, he let the surface of his magic slip through his constant control, making his eye glow in a gloomy-green light that the oldest Malfoy knew too well. The man instinctively took a step backwards and turned pale, even if his face didn't move at all.

What a wily man, Harry thought with amusement. He almost felt sorry not having shook his hand, but he may be able to have a more complete idea of the man's mind later on.

The only thing he had still to buy was a wand; he had voluntarily kept this one for the end. He wanted to think about the possibility of giving a wand to Damien. It could help the boy control his magic, but Harry had the presentiment that it won't be helping at all. It was clear that he was the only one of the two studying, and he couldn't see his brother going to a muggle school alone without imploding.

Harry shivered. The image was actually far too accurate. Yes, before that, he had to know what was happening to the other boy. He never saw things like this on muggles; and it was obviously magic-related. But on the other hand he couldn't talk about it to anyone, because a lack of control means danger and people tended to eliminate danger by any way possible. So, it was his own responsibility, and he will have to work on it quickly.

He went to Olivander's. The interior was dark, austere, and seemed a bit neglected. It was a narrow room all in depth, with high shelves where thousands of boxes of every color, all equally dusty, wer piled up, reaching the ceiling of the room, and a unique wooden chair. There was no one in sight. Harry was about to ring the little bell on the counter when a man suddenly appeared on a rolling ladder, probably in the attempt to make the client jump in surprise. Harry didn't make a move, but an attentive observer could have seen the air get disturbed around him, and maybe the discreet but firm movement his hand made toward the dagger hidden in his pocket. Even with his powers, Harry felt better with a real weapon, mostly because it couldn't blow in his hand by accident, but because old habits died hard too.

"Ha! Mr Potter, I was surprised you did not see me sooner."

He descended from his ladder with surprising agility and began to rummage through the piles of boxes, mumbling. Harry didn't even try to question the man who was apparently in his own world, but he had read, while browsing his book, that he was the best in the country, and one of the most famous in the world in his own specialty.

"Here, here, try this one."  
Harry was nervous. He didn't know the reaction of his raw magic on further control, and he took the wand like he would have taken a loaded revolver.

"Come on, give it a wave!" Olivander said impatiently, giving the boy an odd look.

Harry obeyed, doing a movement of the hand. A whole row of the shelf shattered with a thud.

"No, definitely not." Olivander whispered disappointingly before going back mumbling to his shelves.

Harry didn't quite understand what had happened, but he was sure of something: Damien will never put a single foot here, of not for his own safety, at least for every Londoner's.

Olivander made him try a few others wands and Harry felt quite uneasy with the man's difficulties to find him one. He certainly didn't have anything to say about the man himself, but the belief that he was somehow unnatural, even for a wizard, never left him.

"Maybe... No, that can't be... But I wonder..."

The man came back with an emerald green box in his hands. Harry noticed that he had stopped to look at him in the eyes. He didn't like that, he didn't like that at all. Visual confrontation and direct contact were his only way to assure himself that there was no danger. Not that the little old man did seem slightly threatening, but on the first look, nobody could tell that a man like Vernon had the strength to project an 11 years old boy over a room with a single hit of his foot. And this man was a wizard. Harry put himself immediately on a defense position, but the other man was only taking carefully out an other wand with fingertips. Harry took a deep breath, he would have to be careful not to overreact on magic, or someone might ask questions. Maybe he was as tranquil he thought he was about the Dursleys. He was still feeling their presence at the back of his head, waiting for orders.

All of his attention returned suddenly to the wand Olivander was presenting to him. He was hypnotized. Without touching, it, he could feel the magic echos all over his body, he could almost hear it sing. He had forgotten everything and took the wand like it always belonged to him. No, it was just that it had effectively always belonged to him, just waiting for him to come. A warm golden light bloom from his bare hands to the wand, hand a strong but calm wind made papers fly away in all the room, and his own magic radiate around him.

When the light resorbed into the wand, Harry rose his head to look in Ollivander's eyes. The man couldn't contain a worried expression on his face, but his mind was blank in horror and... curiosity? Harry could only read the bottom of his thought, but he felt countless memories and knowledge accumulated among the years starting to move behind them. Harry chose not to insist, he didn't know if a wizard could actually feel him in his head, and it would be a most unwelcoming rudeness if so.

"This is strange, very strange..."

"What is strange, Sir? " Harry asked, his apprehension running back.

"Well, you see, I remember every person that buy me a wand. What is strange is that the phoenix that gave his feather for your wand gave an other feather to her sister, which happened to be the wand that gave you this scar..."

Harry felt a wave of pride, but it wasn't his. It was distant, hazy, but was here nonetheless. Even if this information gave him more apprehension towards himself, he couldn't help but to smile. Oh, it was a bitter-sweet smile, but it was enough for Olivander to look at him in pure horror. Harry saw it, and went out. He shouldn't have let his emotion take the best of him, certainly not in front of the man, but he couldn't do anything about it right now.

Then, he went towards Knockturn Alley. Of course, he would go there, forbidden knowledge was all his life and interest. It was an advantage in every situation, but even more, it was what some didn't wanted him to see. And if Harry could do something, it was necessarily what he wasn't supposed to. It felt like an adventure.

The alley was dark, cloudy, like the darks mages felt obligated to make everything around them gloomy and dusty, but most surprisingly poor. It was obvious that it had the purpose to get rid of the ones which didn't hand anything to do here, but still. Harry pulled his hood over his head. He went to a small shop to buy two fighting uniforms, he needed to study them later on. Then he was attracted by the biggest shop of the alley. On the pediment, it was inscribed in dirty gold letters: Borgin and Burkes. The shop was... well just like the alley.

Harry wandered among the racks covered in things he didn't know, gems, jewels, flowers, animals, books. He was looking at the books when his eyes were attracted to a magnificent egg. It was about the size of the boy's hand, iridescent, slightly glowing in the dark.

 **"Hello, you."** He said, moving his hand towards the egg. He heard something to knock under the shell and suddenly small cracks formed on its surface. If he had turned around, he would have seen the seller dropping the small orb he had in his hand at the hiss Harry made. The man couldn't see the small boy behind the shelves, but was not to reassure him at all.

A small triangular head pointed through the hole of the shell. The creature opened her eyes, bright green eyes, and gave Harry a confused look.

 **"There, there, it's ok."**  
Harry took the small snake in his hand, afraid to hurt her. It was a her, for sure. She wasn't longer than his middle finger, and so thin! Harry couldn't help but to feel immediately protective towards her. The baby rose its little head and pulled out her tong on Harry's skin, then immediately rolled herself in a ball in the hollow of his hand.

 **"Waaarm..."**

Harry smiled tenderly. He carefully took the pieces of the shell, put them in a box and went to the seller. Never letting the little snake out of his hand, he came back for the book and put them aside the box on the comptoir.

"It will cost you a lot, boy, the egg is very rare – almost extinct, and the books are old, especially the ones with the strange runes on them."  
Harry took a moment to understand what he ment, for him the books were in entirely in English.

Now _that_ was a mystery.

"I'll buy all. Do you have any document on the snake please?"

"The sna-"

The man's eyes widened as he saw the tiny snake into Harry's hand. He shook his head, then gave him what he asked for, and Harry could almost hear him sigh in relief as he left. Harry sat down on a step and untied the hem of his sleeve wide enough for the little snake to fit in it; he couldn't carry everything with one hand. It was almost 4 pm when he went back to the pub. He didn't have to look for Hagrid as the man could be seen from miles away.

They sat together talking about little things, and if Harry didn't fully enjoy the company of the man, he was touch by his candor- the man seemed truly happy about Harry's new discovery of the wizarding world and his arrival to Hogwarts. Harry was upset that the man kept mentioning Dumbledore, but he quickly understood why: the headmaster had saved the man.

Harry didn't know if it was some sort of twisted dept or a true act of care, but the facts remained, and were the proof of Hagrid's loyalty. Harry always admired loyalty, on any circumstances.

They sat a moment in silence.  
"Hagrid. You know the name of the man that gave me... this." Harry said calmly while the other man opened his mouth in surprise. "Don't lie, I know you do. Dumbledore... explained to me most of what happened, but he never named him. I'm sorry to ask, but I need to know, you understand..." Harry whispered accentuating the child's tone of his voice.

The man nodded with a sad face.

"Yeah, yeah I understand. There is something you must understand, Harry, and it's very important. Not all wizards are good. Some turned bad, really bad... Years ago, on of them started to gain powers, gathering followers around him, luring them into dark..."  
That's was it. Harry was bored. Too much emphasis, not enough facts. Common what was he, a ten years old?

He almost laught at himself. Yeah, right, he _was_ eleven.

"... his name was Vol- vol-"

Hagrid took a deep breath. Now, Harry was actually worried, if the name itself of the man could inspire so much fear even years after his death.  
"Voldemort." he finally spat out, looking around him to check if nobody had heard him.

Harry said nothing. The name of the man wasn't that important, but Hagrid's reaction ... Maybe all the emphasis was there for a reason.


	3. Chapter 2

Hi! I wanted to thank you all for the favs, follow and review, it helps me a lot! I'm sorry for the few mistakes, but as you know I am not an English speaker, so I'm trying to improve! Anyway, I hope you like this story. I know that I'm going slowly on the action, but I needed to put "a few" things before starting the hostilities. I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

Warning: violence, swearing, and else as usual.

 **Chapter 2:**

It was around 7 pm when Harry got back. He almost cried when he opened the door. Damien had decorated all the house with wreaths of all colours, put little notes all over the walls. A sweet music was running, and Harry could smell his favorite food in the oven. His birthday. He had forgotten it, but not Damien. Harry felt his heart burn with emotion. For the first time, someone had remembered his birthday. He put his new things on the stairs, and let the box with the little snake, which had fallen asleep during his way back, on a shelf, and started reading the notes, written in a childish and shivering way.

"You will never be alone."

"You are the best brother."

"You saved my life."

"Happy Birthday, little one!"

It went on and on and when Harry arrived into the kitchen he was actually crying from pure joy. He jumped into his brother's arms, hugging him and jumping at the same time. He didn't even feel his magic slowly expanding around him. It was only when he heard Damien's gasp that he saw what was happening.

All the lights in the electric wreaths had come loose from their threads and were flying all over the room, their bulbs forming the body of butterflies which illuminated each object with a coloured glow. The two boys stared in awe, and Harry didn't know what made him happier: the wonderful butterflies, or the reflection of their lights into his brother's happy eyes. His dead eye seemed to be resurrected by the light and recovered the glimmer it never had over the white veil that covered it. It was a fairy tale.

They just stayed like that, sitting on the floor, looking at the butterflies in each other's arms until an alarm rang. Damien stood up and ran for the oven before the food started burning. Harry went to take the baby snake in his hands. The little thing hadn't even woken up, but it stretched in ease when it went back on the warm boy's skin.

"There is someone I want you to meet!"

He came back through the field of butterflies as Damien rose his head from the dish he just took out of the oven. He rose his eyebrow, his face sweetly illuminated by the butterflies slowly floating around, some resting on his back and his shoulders. Harry stopped. Damien looked like an angel. Usually, his face gave him an odd look, with his blind eye and the scar running from his temple to the back of his necks, his black hair only on one side, but now, he had wings of colour. It was wonderful. For the first time, Harry's magic had created beauty.

"You're beautiful," the boy whispered.

Damien looked around as he couldn't see who Harry was talking to, before understanding that he was talking to him. He shook his head in disbelief, not even close to understanding how he looked at this instant. It didn't cross his mind that Harry wasn't joking.

 _You are_. Harry said in his head while crossing his eyes.

Damien gave him an odd look before noticing the little snake in Harry's hand. The little creature was looking at the butterfly with wonder, before coming back to the boy's hand.

" **Waaaarm"** she hissed, cuddling in his palm.

Harry smiled while Damien gave it an, "Awwww." Harry sat on the armchair, keeping the little thing against his chest.

"Well, there are a lot of things we need to talk about. But first, we have to give this little thing a name."

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Damien asked, kneeling next to Harry to have his face at the level of the little silvered-coloured snake.

"A girl."

Damien held out a finger to the tiny triangular head so that the snake could smell it with his forked tongue while thinking. The boy was surprisingly literate. He could recite hundreds of poems and legends. He liked them, the stories. The boy once said to Harry that it was the only thing that kept him going before he came. It was like looking at a window knowing you could fly through it, it was like traveling into ideas, into someone else's dreams, feeding oneself with emotion you could never have.

"Ananta." He said with a smile. 

"Why?" 

"It is the snake of the infinite. It represents the eternal beginning, immortality. It is the pillar of the universe... Something small and gigantic, monstrous and stunning..." 

**"What is the one-eye human saying?"** asked the little snake in an almost indistinguishable hiss. 

"We are trying to give you a name." Harry answered. 

Damien blenched at the sound. 

"What did you just do?" He asked, trying to mask his surprise. 

"Well that's one of the things we need to talk about. It appeared that I can talk to snakes and understand them..." He had said it like it was casual, and Damien didn't even want to ask questions.

Stuff happens.

"Well, what do you think about the name?" 

"I like it, but let's ask her." 

**"So, little thing, we were thinking about Ananta. Do you like it?"**

The snake seemed to think about it before acquiescing with energy. 

"Did she just nod?" Asked Damien, not believing his senses anymore. 

"Told you!"

The two boys were so amazed they burst out in laughter. Now that was magical. Damien went back to his dishes as Harry set the table, the little snake comfortably resting in his hood. Once the dinner was served, they started talking. Harry let the baby slither on the table to grab a few bites of meat. He didn't think that she would like cooked meat, but she actually started making little noises of contentment as soon as she tasted it, agitating her little body in all direction, discovering glass, food, metals, wood, water, and everything around her. She always returned quickly into Harry's sleeve to get warm, but couldn't help but to go explore the table which, since she was no bigger than the child's finger, seemed huge.

Harry talked about the books, everything he had seen, the different alleys, the clothes he was wearing, promising to show Damien his own later on; the books, the forbidden arts, the owl (which was now out of her cage, preening its feathers on the top of the fridge), the people, the Malfoys, Hagrid, his legacy, his new fortune. Damien listened to him, drinking his every word, his smile growing larger at every news. Harry didn't talk about Voldemort; he didn't want to ruin his brother's happiness, and it could wait. Dead men cannot hurt anyone. 

And only at the end of all of that, he talked about his gift for Damien.

"There is something else. In my heritage, I had money, titles, but it wasn't all." Harry teased. "It seems that we have a manor."

Damien fell of his chair under Ananta's dismayed look.

Damien finally sat back, his chair on the right angle, looking at him with a mix of curiosity, impatience and frustration.

"We will be able to move in tomorrow if we wish to. I don't know what it looks like but it's ours..."

"But it's your heritage..."

"No. It's our home." Harry's voice didn't leave room for contradiction.

This time it was Damien who ran into his arms. The boy kissed his cheek and started dancing all over the living room. It was incredible how graceful he could be when no one was looking at him but Harry: his vaulted back straightened up, his limbs seemed to find their place and moved agilely, his gray eye glimmering, his laugh rising in the air. He could have been a dancer. He was moving along with the butterflies, and soon the little creatures started to follow each of his movements, extending his arms into wings, his spinning into a whirlwind of colours.

" A home! We have a home!" The boy shouted happily on and on. 

Harry couldn't help but to join him into his ecstatic joy, jumping on the couch, jumping all over really, laughing, throwing pillows to the other boy. They couldn't really do a pillow fight for obvious reasons but they liked to throw them at each other across the room.

They sat back on their chairs when they finally felt exhausted, but a smile couldn't leave their faces. The butterflies were back to being normal wreaths, but they didn't care.

They went back to their room, not caring about the dishes. Harry put some cotton at the bottom of the snake's box, then a piece of tissue over it to make it like a bed, and he put the box on his nightstand, while Damien was checking on the Dursleys, giving them food and sending them to shower.

" **Ananta wants to sleep with the speaker !"** moaned the little snake 

**"I know, but you are too small, I'll risk crushing you during my sleep..."**

**"That's not true! Ananta is strong! Ananta is big!"** The little serpent showed her little hooks to emphasize his words.

Harry laughed at her antics before threatening to send her to sleep in the kitchen if she didn't stop complaining. Of course, these were empty words, but the little grumbling snake went back into her box.

"It's really strange when you talk like that." Damien said while lying in the bed next to Harry's. 

"Yeah I know, but I don't even hear it when I change the language myself so... it's weird for me that it is weird for everyone around..." 

"Yeah, well, one thing over the top. We may be a little out of shape to know?" 

"Well, I've heard it somewhere..." 

Damien laughed. 

Harry laid back and turned off the light.

The taxi driver looked at them like they were crazy when they asked him to stop in the middle of nowhere. Well, they could easily agree with him themselves, so they didn't make a comment.  
They walked for a long time before finding the village that was indicated to Harry. It was a small, but beautiful little town. They continued to walk before finally seeing the grid that was circling the manor.

The two boys were wearing similar outfits: black trousers, a shirt with long sleeves, deep green for Harry and blue for Damien, and a cape that reached their waist. It was a bit warm for the summer's weather but they were used to it.

As Harry was told to do, he put his hand on the door's bars and said out loud:

"I, Harry James Potter, heir and Lord of the House Potter, ask for entrance into the manor for myself and for my trusted, Damien Alexander Lewis."

He felt a tingling in his hands as the wards tested his identity, and the door opened. There must have been an invisibility charm because a splendid manor suddenly appeared about twenty feet away. It was more than they could have imagined. After a quick glance at each other, they started running to the door. Onyx flew away to the roof.

The hall was immense - almost the size of the Dursley's house. In the centre, between two pillars, which were in reality gnarled trees with glowing red leaves, a staircase led to the two wings of the manor. The floor was covered with a carpet of red and gold, delicately woven with motifs representing lions and griffins fighting, as well as sorcerers projecting coloured sparks. An Oculus poured its light, which fell in vertical rays, so that when a leaf fell, one could say that it was raining gold.

With pride, Harry clapped his hands and a little house elf popped in before him. Damien didn't even jump in surprise as he was still mesmerized by the view. 

The little creature bowed in front of Harry. Greatflow had explained to him what they were, but Harry didn't imagine them like that; so small, with a bit of craziness in their big globular eyes.

"Master Potter! How glad we are that you finally came!"

Harry smiled at Damien's confuse look.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Gladis, Master Potter."

"Well, Gladis, this is Damien. He will stay here with me, and I want you to consider him as a member of my family, am I clear?" Harry said sweetly, amused at the elf's joy.

"Yes, Master Potter!".

"Now, could you give us a tour of the manor?"

"I'd be glad, Master Potter!"

"Please, call me Harry when we are alone."

The elf nodded.

Harry was glad the elf immediately recognized him as the master of the house. Greatflow had explained to him that he wasn't supposed to have access to his rings and properties before his majority, but considering that he was the only heir alive, didn't have a magical place to stay and had every chance to be persecuted by black mages, plus that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the ministry had made an amendment for him to take some charges earlier. Harry couldn't believe his luck.

" **Where are we, Speaker?"** asked Ananta, finally getting out of his sleeve. She was scared of the cars and must have fallen asleep in the process of hiding.

" **This is our new home, little thing."  
**

**"Is there stuff to eat?"**

**"Plenty!"** Harry laughed at her priorities. She seemed happy of the answer and went on his neck to look at the place around them. 

**"It smells good and it's warm and there is food. Ananta likes it here!"**

"She said she like the place." Harry answered to Damien's curious look. 

"Who would not?"

Harry nodded happily.

"We may go, Gladis." 

"There are twenty bedrooms in the manor," Gladis said as they went to the right wing of the first floor. "Without counting the king and the queen room, of course."

The boys looked at each other in disbelief.

The corridors were pierced by coloured-glass windows representing different creatures that Harry had never even heard about. They passed huge bedrooms, all decorated in the same warm tones, before accessing the king's one. It was - well - royal. A large four-poster bed of red silk and light wood was standing in the centre of the room, and a large desk finely chieled had been put under the large window which faced a luxuriant garden. The room had its own bathroom, even if it was in the XIX century style and technologies. It also had a hidden door that led to the queen's room, which was quite similar except for the bookshelves instead of a desk. The other wing of the first floor were the other parts of the rooms.

The second floor had what was described to them as a tower of astronomy, surrounded with a circular training room. They passed it quite quickly partly because of their excitement, partly because they didn't want to think about fighting between wizards right now.

Then, the house-elf led them on the ground floor. There were two doors on each sides of the stairs: the right one led to the biggest (and only) library that the boys had ever seen; in fact somehow the library was running on the two uppers levels. They had to control their urge to stay inside the room and continued the visit. The other part of the ground floor was entirely occupied by a ball room. Again, it was just... vast. The room had a polished black marble floor whose veins shone as if the floor was alive. Four pillars sprang towards the ceiling in vaults of chiseled stone. Tacking back on the hall, there were two other doors on the right end left wall, the two of them leading to the richest living room they had ever seen.

Damien could not help but take his friend by the waist, and, ignoring his indignant air, he made him waltz to the other end, singing an air that Harry knew only too well. At one point, he stopped protesting and started laughing while twirling all around the room, imagining wizards in their expensive robes and pointed hat, and the murmurs of soft voices gossiping and plotting, and even the aggressively extravagant colours of Dumbledore swirling under the confused looks of the guests. He withdrew his gloves and sent the picture to Damien. They both had to wait a few more minutes to be able to walk without bursting out of laughter right away.

Gladis finally led them to the first basement, where the kitchens, the Potion room and the sanatorium were. She, as her voice indicated it was a she, told them that there was a second basement(a cave actually) but as it hadn't been cleaned for almost twenty years, she preferred not to lead them there, and they had to agree that it was better. There was an herbology garden in the park that had been well preserved, but they were too tired to go check it (and they didn't even know what herbology was for.) They went back to the hall and sat on the stairs, looking around with so much content that they couldn't express it with words.

"Tell me Gladis, how many house elves are working here?" 

"You... you mean that there are others?" Damien asked, incredulously.

Harry smiled with knowledge.

"There are ten house elves here, Master Potter. Three at the kitchen, three for cleaning the house and keeping it in order, three for the gardens, and myself at your personal disposal." 

"Thank you, Gladis. Can you call the staff please?" 

"Yes Master Potter!" The little elf said before popping away. 

"You like it don't you?" Damien said with a smirk. 

Harry looked at him with a dare. 

"When they call you "master"..."

Harry laughed.

"Yes, I think we can claim that I like it. But you are their master too, now, you know."  
Damien shook his head, and Harry squeezed his hand. That was a fucking improvement of lifestyle, but it wasn't what their emotion was about. This place was going to be their home. Not a home they stole, not a home still full of screams, not a place where they had to watch all of their actions. No, here was their sanctuary, and for the first time they allowed themselves to think about it.

Freedom.

The ten little elves popped right back in a ceremonial line in front of the boys. Greatflow had told Harry what he needed to say at first, and the green-eyed boy was glad for it, because he certainly didn't want to pass for a fool in front of his family's servants on the first day.

"Me and this young fellow, whom I want you to consider as my equal, will be moving here in the week. There are only the two of us and we aren't very ceremonial. So, I'll only ask of you a few things. Gladis, you will help us move our things here, into the king and the queen's rooms." He said, suddenly taking the role of the Lord he was. (And Damien had to admit that he was fitting in it very well). "Which are the three elves taking care of the kitchens?" 

"Us, My Lord!" said a new elf, quite smaller than the others, two of his kin surrounding him. 

"What is your name?" 

"Sweel, Master Potter. And this is Mya and Nan." 

"Great. So, as we are only two we won't give you much work from now on. Damien here will decide on the everyday menu, and I want you to tell me if anything is missing. You already have access to a part of my account in order to buy the food. We don't need complicated things unless we have a visitor, and in that particular situation I will myself give you instructions." 

"Alright, Master Potter."

"Then, I guess you three are the ones taking care of the gardens?" He asked to the three elves with obvious marks of grass and dirt on their faces. The three of them nodded politely. "Good. I don't know many things about magical gardens, but just know that we both like flowers," he said with a smile, as the three little creature were already looking at each other the head full of ideas to content their masters. "Then the three of the house." Harry said, turning to the last elves, which were luckily cleaner than the others. "As you heard, I need you to prepare the king and queen bedrooms. When this is finished, I'd like you to start refitting the second basement. Now, all of you, I'll give simple rules of life: nobody, except those I clearly specify, is allowed to enter the manor. If someone trespasses I want it to be reported to me immediately. Nothing that happens here can be heard or told outside of these walls. When the second basement is completed, none of you will be allowed to go in there except for Gladis, or if I ask you to, or if there is an extreme emergency. I'll ask you to give me a list of all your names to memorize it, and to note where and when you buy the food we eat. Plus, I have this little lady here that is going to need special treatment. I'll give Gladis a paper with what she needs. Her name is Ananta and she must be treated with all the care you would give to a child of mine," he continued as the little snake rose her head towards the elves. "I will need a map of the house including the secret rooms we didn't see today and the secret passages, and a standing for my owl in my room."

He took a long breath as he had said it all without breathing, not wanting to forget anything. The little elves were looking at each other, almost jumping in excitement.

"Thank you, that will be all," he finished with a wave of his hand.

All the little elves popped out, except for Gladis.

"Gladis, I'll need you to give me information on the nearest village. And by that, I mean if there are wizards, magical incidents, and the reputation of the family in the neighborhood," Damien requested.

"Yes, Master Damien." The little elf said while bowing. 

They took a taxi and went back home in content silence, the taxi driver still looking at them like they were out of their mind, especially when he saw the owl on the shoulder of the one-eyed boy and the other petting a little snake.

When they arrived at the Dursley's home it was already late, they didn't notice that they had passed so much time at the manor. And they still had a lot to talk about. Their happiness had led to a strong sense of their new responsibilities and the sad feeling of the fatality that was approaching.

They both sat, exhausted, on their usual armchairs. Now, they had to make a decision about the Dursleys, which were actually cooking behind them. What happened to the young boy- what was his name again? Paul, yes, Paul. It was defense. Maybe a bit violent, maybe he didn't have to die, but he attacked them. And Damien's father was still alive. But the Dursleys weren't attacking them now. They were as obedient and quiet as always. It was a necessity for the safety and comfort of the boys, but it wasn't fair. The more they thought about it, the more they understood it. No, that was murder.

They ate in silence. They didn't need to talk to understand each other's thoughts. Harry wasn't worried about moral; but he was about Damien. The other boy would not be able to bear something like this, as Harry hardly could, and it was his family. Deep down, he knew that his decision was already made, but somehow he still thought about it. Ananta, feeling that the boy was worried, was rubbing her head on the boy's hand, sweetly hissing.

"You will go to the manor tomorrow, and install our stuff," he said simply to his brother. There was no need of further explanations, there was no room for contradiction in his voice. Damien nodded, and they went to bed, leaving for the first time the Dursleys sitting in the living room.

They called Gladis early the next day, after having closed Damien's old house. The little creature explained to them that she could teleport them around if they took her arm. Damien went with her and the stuff they wanted to take with them at the manor, and Harry was finally alone with his "family".

He took a deep breath, but he was actually serene. It was only a last goodbye to a life of weakness and pain. It was only time to move on, and to finally get the revenge he was unconsciously still seeking for.

With nostalgia, he made the Dursley clean the house and eat the food that was left, not much, almost not enough for a meal. Then he sent them to shower, taking the usual well care of closing his mind as he didn't want to see it, then, after putting every furniture in its original place, he started.

He made them lay on the biggest bed, Petunia between her son and her husband. He loosened the control link he had on her and an expression of terror and disgust appeared on her face. She was crying, but he didn't let her talk.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her with some sort of sad tenderness, and a bitter-sweet smile on the face.

"You know, I don't hate you."

His voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was the voice parents used to send their children to bed.

"But It doesn't mean that I can forgive you. You are my only family, you know. But you did nothing. You know, for years I used to think that you liked it, but now I understand. It is not a question of taste... you just didn't care enough to do something."

He stopped as Petunia's eyes were wide with silent terror.

"I wonder what she was like... my mother... You never told me much about her. I like to think that, somehow, she wasn't like you. You don't have her eyes. I've found a photograph in the attic... Well I don't have her eyes either, but you... I don't know. I don't know why it ended up like this."

He shook his head to get the thing out of it. He was feeling something at the back of his mind, watching placidly, in silence.

"I wonder if you were sad when she died?"

He looked at her. She had been.

"Oh. Well, that only raises more questions. But I don't have time for questions, now, Petunia. I must move on, you know? It's not against you, it is for me that I'm doing it. You hurt me too much." 

He let his stare cover the family for a moment. The closed shutters gave the impression that the night had already come. It reminded him of the night, not that long ago, but which seemed to be in another life.

"You will not hurt anymore. None of you."

He laughed sweetly. Petunia was still staring at him, but now there was some sort of acceptance in her eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you Petunia, for you never hurt me directly. No, your fate will be more... cruel, but fair. These two will not be able to move, as I burned all of their link between the body and the mind. They are not really conscious. I'd like to wake them up, but I can't. I believe I was a little too upset when... well when it happened. I'm just..."

He stopped as his voice was shaking. It wasn't sadness, nor guilt or fear. It was something far more complex.

"I'm going to let you rot, Petunia, just like you did to me. In a few days, they will die. You will see them die, just like you saw me die, bit by bit. Then, it's going to be ugly. And you will see it all. At one point, you will be so hungry that you may consider eating anything, maybe your own tongue, maybe one of the corpses, but you will not be able to move. But don't worry; in a week or two, you will be dead. A relief, isn't it? I didn't even have it, the knowledge of when the pain would stop."

He smiled at her. This time, it was a frank smile, the first and last he ever gave to his aunt.

"Farewell, aunt Petunia." He whispered, closing the door one last time.

He took his time to close the home, cut electricity and water. He had sent letters to work and administration if anyone was to be alarmed by the disappearance. Dudley was sick, something very bad. He had to stay at home. Well, his mother would do everything to stay with him of course, and it wasn't like she had a job. Vernon will send in a week a letter of resignation, pleading that he couldn't be out of the home knowing in what state his son was. And all will be well.  
After one last look at the house, he called Gladis to take him home.

 **"Speaker is home! Speaker is home!"**

The little snake jumped on Harry's hands. She had been hissing since the very moment Harry had put a foot back on the manor, but Damien didn't let her go out of her box, fearing she would get lost or someone would step on her accidentally. She was already a bit bigger than she used to be, but it didn't mean much.

Harry took her and she wrapped around his wrist like a small bracelet of scales. _That might be useful to take you at school_ , he thought, surprised that he didn't have the idea earlier. Well, he had had other things to think about. Once again, he was stunned by the beauty of the hall, and he had the feeling that he would need a lot of time to get used to it. He nodded at Damien who was going down the stairs to greet him.

The topic of Harry's family was never mentioned again.

They didn't have much time left before the separation. They went back to Diagon Alley to buy Damien his own owl, considering that he would need independence, it had only one eye just like its new master. Damien called it Ibis.

They settled well in the manor. The canopy that the elf had called the Herbology Garden was actually a piece of art. Damien even recognized some forbidden artists of the XVIIIth century in the constructions, but Harry didn't have this knowledge and only found it beautiful. He decided to renovate the piping and to look out for electricity (even if he didn't know how to install it in the manor yet). Looking at the map the elves had made, they found a little room at the back of the library. It could only be opened by the one with the Potter's ring. Harry made it his office. It only had a desk, empty shelves that could be locked and a filing cabinet.

Damien started working on the muggle laws as Harry concentrated on what he was supposed to learn at school. It appeared that one of Harry's grandparents was actually a lawyer, which gave them all they needed on the subject; actually far more and more complex things than they could dig out in so little time. But they learnt something: witches were obsessed with blood. They had great discussions about it. It was the reason Damien had gone through the cracks: they didn't want to look on muggles. They had the feeling that they had touched a very important subject, therefore they decided to dig more into it. Harry understood that the system of progenitor was what gave him his social importance, but it was also excluding Damien from the political society.

Harry couldn't sleep. He wasn't tormented, he just couldn't. He was nocturnal. He passed his nights with his nose in the books about magical medicine, but he couldn't find anything matching Damien's symptoms. At least, it made him learn the basics, but he was a bit worried that it wasn't something they could resolve on their own.

One week before school, Harry started to try some spells. The firsts try were... well messy. Stuff

started to explode all around, to fly without permission, and the boy had to calm and explain things to the elves for them to take measures. Damien preferred to stay in the library, far from any magical explosion he could avoid. Harry had asked him if he wanted a wand, but the boy wasn't ready yet.

Harry didn't bother; the other boy had seen pretty ugly things with magic, and most of them were his deeds. The boy looked actually better. Unlike Harry, he wasn't unearthly thin anymore, and he had started to take care of himself, of his looks and health, even doing sports. In one of their fitting sessions, he had been desperate about Harry's messy hair which couldn't be capped, he actually tried for hours before giving up.

Two days before going to Hogwarts, everything was set up. Harry had managed to learn a few spells (he was still astonished about the practical uselessness of what he had to learn) and the biggest part of the theory. They had decided that Damien would stay at the manor until Harry would find a way to make him come to Hogwarts in secret. The one-eyed boy preferred to stay alone with the elves, who had become more and more friendly as their masters treated them as human being, than in a crowd full of magical people. He was going to learn himself, and seemed passionate by the way Wizards had cast the muggle, even "muggleborn" out of the society. It was sickening, but as he used to say, the more you know, the more you can change. They decided to correspond by letters, and to send Gladis in case of emergency. Damien was actually working on a way to code their messages, not that it was useful right now, but just in case. Harry's paranoia didn't help to turn him away from this project.

They had started to read wizard newspapers, and to classify them. They were one of the best sources of information on the wizard's way of thinking, but Harry insisted to have the Muggles's big one as well. He didn't see why being a wizard meant being cut from all that wasn't magical, but it was something else that made him insist that much. Muggles had attacked him, which meant that they could attack any wizards. And if Harry knew something, it was that you cannot defend yourself against something you don't know, and you cannot make peace with a total stranger. Not that Harry was in a peaceful mood.

He had decided to take Ananta with him, hiding her in his robes; he just couldn't bear to leave the little snake home with no one to talk to. She was actually sort of excited to see new things, even if she hadn't seen a quarter of the manor yet. She had grown a lot and was now almost the size of Harry's forearm, and her scales were turning into a beautiful silver-grey with beautiful patterns of black and green. But the main change as the little thing grew up was her speed. On some occasions, Harry noticed that he wasn't able to follow her, and it made him proud and confident. Speed was good for attack, of course, but it also meant that if any trouble appeared at Hogwarts she would be able to run away in a blink.

He didn't like leaving Damien alone. He didn't like it at all. It would be the first time that the two of them would be separated since their real encounter. The boy felt lost, and it undermined his excitement for Hogwarts. He knew they would see each other for holidays and about every time they could, but he wasn't sure he could manage without him. To calm him, to comfort him, to look after him, to laugh with him, to share his secrets. But more, it would mean that if Damien had a crisis such as the one after Dumbledore's visit, no one would be home to help him. At the simple idea, Harry felt a ball in his stomach. Secretly, he had asked Gladis to note Damien's symptoms and to give him weekly reports, as he knew his brother wouldn't tell him if something was wrong - considering that he could manage to understand that something was wrong. He also asked the elf to immediately fetch him if Damien started to lose control of his magic, to lose his senses or if the black veins were to be seen on his body. The elf nodded with concern.

Gladis had become more like an odd friend than a real servant. Harry couldn't help it, she was so maternal. Not that he was complaining. He was still of an age to be looked after, and even if it sometimes annoyed him, he was glad.

The day of his departure finally came. Damien prepared him for hours, trying to discipline his hair, checking his luggage. Before they went out, he put a little bag of soft fabric into Harry's Hand.

"Ananta's bed." He said with a smile.

Harry nodded with gratitude. Gladis teleported them to a dark corner not far away from King's Cross. Harry sent her back to the manor with a smile, and they headed for the station, holding each other's hand in a desperate attempt to find courage. As Damien didn't feel well with all the surrounding people, they had to say goodbye in front of the station.  
Harry hugged his brother sweetly, while the other boy took care to don't touch any of his scars.

"I'll write, I promise."

"I know you will." Damien smiled before pushing the other boy away. "Go on, my friend. You have too many things to discover to be sad, today."

And on those words, he went back to the dark corner before calling Gladis.

Harry was alone. He straightened up, his shoulders back, his chin up, and walked into the station.

The ticket sent to him indicated the 9/3/4 route, and he had to wait until a family of redheads screaming in all directions threw themselves against the wall between tracks 9 and 10 to spot the entrance. It made him wonder if the firsts wizards were as paranoid as he was himself.  
On the other side of the wall, a thousand of magical children were running everywhere, hugging their families, waving from the train's windows. Well, he was glad Damien wasn't here to see that. Harry got into the first wagon that had the least occupants, and eventually settled into an empty compartment, enjoying a little quiet. He looked at the window. Somehow, he wished he had someone to waved him goodbye. He heard a little hiss near to his ear.

" **But at least you are coming with me, uh, little one?"  
**

**"Is there food at the school?"**

Harry had to bite his lips not to burst out of laughter as the train was leaving the station.


	4. Chapter 3

Hy everyone! Finally the first days at Hogwarts!

I wanted to thank you all for every fav, reviews and everything, and I hope you like the story! Feel free to comment, to say what you like or not and try to guess what's comming!

As always, sorry for the few mistakes.

Chapter 3:

HChapter 3:

Harry was watching the scenery scroll through the window, lost in his thoughts, when someone knocked at the door of his carriage.

"May I come in? All the other compartments are full," asked a redhead boy; one of the family Harry had seen earlier. Harry nodded.

The boy sat - well threw himself - on the bench next to Harry.  
"I'm Ron by the way. Ron Weasley."

The boy began to unpack a dreadful sandwich which couldn't have made more noise if he was killing an animal in the room.

"Harry Potter."

Ron looked at him with round eyes.

"So, it is true! Do you have the... the scar...?"

Now Harry was pissed. He glared at him, and feeling his sudden tension, Ananta rose from his lap where she was laying.

 **"Is there a problem, speaker?" She hissed worriedly.**

Harry was about to pat her little head when the red-haired boy suddenly backed away with a little pitiful cry, struck his head against the back of the bench, and almost kicked the little snake, if Harry hadn't the reflex to protect his familiar with his magic.

 **"How dare you?"** Said Harry with a dangerous tone while rising, not even noticing that he had switch language in his anger. Ananta had wrapped around his neck, and her triangular head raised, she pointed her hooks toward the boy who was now crawling on the ground in a desperate attempt to get out. 

Harry closed his eyes. It was going to be far more difficult than he had thought at first. Taking back control of himself, he stood still, looking at the boy who looked like he had the fear of his life, his dull blue eyes going from Harry to the snake.

He heard steps on the train's corridor and Draco appeared at the compartment's door.

"Hey, Harry... is everything OK? What are you doing on the floor, Weasley?" He looked at the two boys in turn, clearly hostile towards Ron.

"He almost kicked my snake," Harry explained, his voice calm again. Damien would have been proud of his control.

Draco's eyes narrowed at the sight of the little snake. He was himself disturbed by the presence of an aggressive snake, but it wasn't the point.. The point was that this blood-traitor had dared to touch Harry's belongings, and that Harry could be frightening as hell.

He did not have time to do anything as the Weasley boy fled precipitately from the compartment, almost knocking himself out on the corridor's wall. 

"I may have let myself be carried away." Harry said with a smile.

"Don't worry about him, he is stupid anyway, just like his whole family. You can recognize them by..." He showed his hair with his hand, a disgusted look on his face.  
Harry nodded.

"I wasn't worried about him. It's just that I really don't like it when someone touches Ananta."

"Ananta, it's the snake, right?" Draco asked while sitting in front of him.  
It was funny to see how he changed as soon as his father was away. One could almost not see the haughty expression on his face anymore – almost. 

"Yeah. She's a girl by the way."

Draco talked for a very long time, about Hogwarts, how he would be in Slytherin as all of his family had been there, about how powerful his father was at the Ministry. Harry nodded politely, adding a few words when needed, but it was clear that Draco didn't need him to talk. The boy wanted to impress him, and it wasn't quite a bad intention. You only try to impress what you respect, but Harry wondered if the boy respected him, or The-Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, the question would have been easier to answer with his father.

Then, Draco went back to his own compartment, leaving Harry alone with the little snake.

" **Non speakers talk a lot!"** Ananta pointed out with a bit of scorn in her voice.  
It cheered Harry.

 **"Yes, but they don't have a lot to say unfortunately,"** he answered with a smirk.

He thought about the possibility to ask Damien to look after information on the Weasley and Malfoy families when someone knocked again at the door. 

Harry expected Draco to come back; the boy had some brain hidden in there and Harry didn't dislike him, but it wasn't him. It was a girl of his age, with big brown eyes and a mane of chestnut hair reaching her shoulders.

"Excuse me, but have you seen a frog? A boy named Neville lost it."

"No, sorry, and I can assure you that no animal passed this compartment, so you may stick to the part between yours and mine." 

"How do you know that?" She asked. Her voice was surprisingly annoying.

"She would have noticed." Harry answered, pointing the little snake from the head.  
He didn't want to hide the snake from the students, the Weasley boy was a proof of their stupidity when surprised. However, he'd learned a spell to hide her if a teacher went to ask a question. And she was still small enough to hide on him.

The girl's eyes narrowed, but not in fear. Curiosity. She sat next to Harry, not even asking, to look closer at the little snake. 

"I've never seen one like that. I mean... even in my books. What is it?"

Oh, a bookworm. Even if Harry didn't like how close she was from him, the girl's curiosity and lack of fear pleased him. 

"She's a girl." He answered in a strange teaching voice. "And she's unique. She had... evolved from her original race, that's why you don't recognize it. But Let's see if you can guess..."

The girl gave if a defiant look and went back to her observations. She seemed actually upset that she wasn't able to find it, and had to keet her distance from the snake, when they heard a croaking in the corridor.

"You should run after that thing." Harry said, frowned in frustration but left.

Harry shook his head. He had never talked to so many people of his age and he was kind of surprised how different they were from him, or even Damien. He knew that even with his size he looked older, but he hadn't realized how much.

Draco went back only to tell him that they were close to the school and it was time to put on his uniform. 

When he got out of the wagon he was soon joined by Malfoy, who was now surrounded by two rather similar boys, who looked to have the corpulence and intelligence of Dudley at his best time.

Harry shook his head. Here too...

"First year, first year! This way please!"

Well that was a voice that Harry could recognize a mile away. Hagrid was standing on the platform, waving his enormous hand. He made a sign of the head towards Harry and led the first years towards barques. Harry sat in the front of it, Draco and another boy he didn't know behind him. The cold nocturnal wind cleared his mind, and he needed to because he couldn't help but to feel excited about everything.

His heart just stopped when he saw the castle. It was grandiose. The orange light in the windows were shining like a lighthouse in the night and emphasized the immensity of the buildings. Towers skyrocketed towards the sky and the imposing structure was reflected in the undulating water of the lake, giving the children the impression that they were flying over the castle.

All of them stood gaping, except for Harry and his control, but his mind was in the same state. When Draco turned toward Harry to share a look of connivance, all he saw was an aristocrat. In the contrasted lights, his face like a porcelain's mask, his eyes resting on the castle like he owned the place. 

_Welcome to our home_. Harry heard. He couldn't help but to smile at that.

When they got out of the boats, Harry checked that Ananta was well-hidden and walked towards the stairs of stone with the others. He stayed near to Draco but even the blonde couldn't speak.

A witch was standing at the top of the stairs, in a large green dress. She looked old, of distinguished severity, and wore a pointed hat matching her dress. 

"Welcome, welcome. Stay in line. My name is Professor McGonagall Now, before you enter the hall, you will be distributed in one of the four houses. The houses are: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. In order to do that..."

She was cut short by a "Trevor!" thrown by a young boy who rushed to catch the toad that was - without anyone noticing how - at the feet of McGonagall. The lady gave him a blank look before the boy retreated back in the ranks, mumbling a pitiful sorry.

"... In order to do that, the hat of Hogwarts will be placed on your head, when you are called. Now, follow me, please." 

And on these words, she turned on her heels and opened the doors of th Great Hall. There were candles in the air, illuminating what Harry had learned to be a false sky (as the bookworm girl was explaining behind him), and in front of them, the head table, slightly overhanging the rest. All the other students turned towards the newbies.

Harry liked it. Not to be watched, but the place, the feeling. It was like he had always belonged here. And he missed Damien, he wanted to show him all. But of course, he put these ideas and feeling behind his usual stoic face, and still walked in the new world like an emperor. It wasn't pride, he wasn't fond of himself, it was just his natural way to behave in public. And it worked, as several students couldn't look away.

They all stood in front of the head table, a few feet away from a single chair that was waiting for them. A brown shapeless hat was placed on it. 

Harry wasn't on the front line of the students, it allowed him to observe for a moment as the first children were called. There weren't many students. More than he had ever seen, but how many less than what he had read in the old books on Hogwarts! To see how every table was cheering each new entrant, the disparities between them was very clear, in fact, it could be felt.

Looking at the head table, Harry nodded toward Quirrell, and the other returned his salute. Just like at the pub, Harry felt his scar warming. Next to Quirrell, a strange man, dressed all in black was staring at him. Harry felt something pushing at the back of his mind, but it wasn't the familiar presence of the voice. It was an intruder. Harry pushed violently back, keeping eye contact with the man, whose nose had begun to bleed. Without even looking, Quirrell gave him a tissue. 

"Who is the man next to the professor Quirrell?" Harry asked Draco discreetly.

"Him? Its Sev- the professor Snape. He is teaching potions, and is also my godfather. You'll see, he is so cool!" 

Harry returned a bright smile to Draco. So, the boy had someone else than his father to impress at school.

While the Weasley boy was called and sent to Gryffindor, Harry took his time to observe the other teachers. Dumbledore was still looking like a Santa on drugs, for he was always far too joyful, but it made Harry laugh more than anything. He was wearing a bright purple robe with brown patterns. Harry didn't like the man, but he certainly had to admit that he was flamboyant. His presence could be felt in all the room, and he looked at every child like he was his own grandson or granddaughter. Harry thought that if he hadn't found out how the man had stolen his money, and even with the voice's warning, he would have been tempted to trust the man. But, if there was one thing he couldn't forgive, it was when someone touched his family, and by extension his family's belongings. What a shame, really. 

Draco was called and he was sent to Slytherin without even having the time to touch his head. Of course, the boy was delighted.

"Harry Potter."  
The hall went silent.

So, it was the moment. The arrival of The-Boy-Who-Lived. They all expected something, different things of course, but nonetheless. 

He sat graciously on the chair, but couldn't repress a shiver as the hat touched his head. It was a hat, but a talking hat, and Harry's body seemed to consider it as a person. Of course, nobody noticed it, except maybe Dumbledore, which had a plain view on his tensed back. For the others, a prince had just sat on his throne. 

Harry was anxious of what the hat could see in his mind, but he had read that it couldn't talk about it to anyone but himself. And somehow, he knew that the voice would protect the problematic memories, if needed.

"I see a lot of potential... You could be in every house, but where to put you... yes you could be great... a house could help you on the way to greatness..." The hat whispered to Harry's ear.

"SLYTHERIN!" It screamed without letting to Harry the time to respond.  
The hall went _completely_ silent.

Harry could almost hear Dumbledore gasp in his back. As he rose from his chair, he heard a cheering of the Slytherin's table, while the others stood silent. Harry hissed to Ananta for her not to rise her head at the noise, and went to the Slytherin table with a smirk. He sat next to Draco, shook a few hands, all thinking the same, "It's Harry Potter and he's in my house!". He was overfilled with pride, and this time it was his own. He had broken expectations, and that on the very first day of his arrival. He could almost hear Damien laugh at the situation, when he would hear about it.

He gave a surprised look to the girl he had met on the train when he noticed she was at Gryffindor; he would have seen her at Ravenclaw obviously. But he didn't think about it too much as the headmaster rose from his chair. The ceremony was over.

Dumbledore opened his arms like he wanted to hug each student and to give them cookies. Harry chuckled at the image.

"Welcome to Hogwarts! And especially welcome to our new students! Before we start the festivities, Mr Filch, our caretaker, asked me to remind you that the Forbidden forest is well named, forbidden, and that the third floor is out of reach for anyone who doesn't want to suffer a painful death. Now, let the feast... begin!" 

And as he rose his arms a second time, all sorts of food appeared on the different tables. But Harry barely noticed it, the only thing he had in mind was: was the man totally crazy? Death threats inside a school? Really? He could understand the forest, it was outside, and probably a place where they kept different creatures, but the third floor? And nobody else seemed to notice, as they were too concentrated on the food and the excitement of the first day and new meetings.  
Harry shook his head in disbelief.

Draco soon required his attention, and introduced him to the two big boys that were with him earlier: Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Harry didn't understand why Draco kept them so close, but as he understood they were pure blood, it must have a family interest under it somehow. He shook the hand of Daphne Greengrass, a pretty girl with long black hair and an obvious shy temper, Theodore Nott and finally Blaise Zabini. All pure blood. Harry started to understand the link between them all. He would have to send note to Damien on what he should learn about them, because obviously these kids were from powerful families.

"Happy to be at Slytherin?" Blaise asked while eating "You created quite a surprise."  
The boy was judging him, obviously, and Harry decided to give it a try.

The other barely heard a hiss and a little snake got out of Harry's sleeve, looking around her before Harry indicated his own plate, where he had kept a piece of meat. They all looked at him with surprise, respect and maybe a bit of fear, but none had the stupid reflex of the Weasley boy.  
"It wasn't quite a surprise for me." harry said, his voice soft as silk.

It was a lie, of course. Harry was by blood the heir of Gryffindor, and it was actually one of the few things Harry was truly proud about, but one does not choose his mind. Well, if Gryffindor and Slytherin succeeded to build a school together, Harry could succeed to honour both of them. Or none. Harry didn't want his behaviour to be directed by the past, apparently unlike the vast majority of witches.

" **There is a lot a people, here!"** Said the little snake worriedly.  
Harry nodded but didn't answer. He remembered quite well the fear that the snake's language could spread, and if he knew it was going to be an advantage with the Slytherins, he didn't want everyone to know what he was able to do, especially not Dumbledore. Knowledge is power and Harry couldn't afford anyone to have power on him.

When the feast was over, the prefects led them to the Slytherin's common room, which happened to be in the dungeon, under the black lake they had crossed earlier. The place was dark, only illuminated by green orbs. All the decorations was obviously made in silver, dark and green. The room had a fireplace, a few tables of dark wood, armchairs, some chessboard and desks covered by papers and flasks that contained God knew what. Harry liked the place, not that it was welcoming. But the shadows could give the impression of loneliness even with people around, and the place was perfect for Ananta. He was afraid he would have to buy a vivarium in summer, but here there was no need. Still, the place was cold.

 _A place for the darkest minds..._ Harry couldn't help to think.  
Well, it was his place indeed.

The prefects indicated the dormitories, and Harry chose to wait for all the others to stop running everywhere before going tothe place. This, on the other hand, might become a problem. Harry didn't sleep a lot, but when he did, it surely wasn't pretty. He couldn't let the others see him having nightmares, and he would have to find a solution quickly. When he climbed the stairs leading to the dormitories, all the other boys had already chosen their bed.

"Harry!" Draco waved his hand and showed him a bed not far away from his own. "I kept this one for you."

Harry gave him a bright smile. He actually would have been touched by Draco's attention if he hadn't caught him giving a superior look to one of the other boys. This one was definitely running after fame. Harry's bed was near one of the windows, against the right wall of the dormitories, and well hidden from the door. 

Their things had been brought to the room, and Harry started to fix his corner of the room. He had locked his books in a chest that he put under the bed, and Ananta's box on his nightstand. With a smile, he placed Damien's gift in it and allowed the little snake to rest in there. They still had an hour before having to head back downstairs to get their timetables. He took his quill and some paper and started writing about his day for Damien, but then he decided to write it just before sending it, to avoid...interference.

They finally returned to the common room. All the first years were here, waiting and whispering. Harry found himself a quiet place in one of the armchairs at the corner of the room, and was soon joined by Draco and Blaise who stood beside him.

Snape opened one of the doors, threw the timetables on the nearest surface, and stopped to let his suspicious black glinting eyes stare at each student like he was going to take their soul if they dared take a breath. They were all tense.

Harry felt a mix between disgust and amusement toward the man. The effect was ridiculous, and he had to confess that he did look like a giant bat, but it worked, and the room went silent in a blink.

"I am Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin. As you can see if you have two brain cells connected with each other, these are your timetables. It appears that the first class is potions, so we will have the pleasure to see each other tomorrow morning, and it is obvious that every late student will be punished accordingly," Snape said.

He glowered at everybody and left as dramatically as he had entered. 

Draco was about to throw himself on the timetables like the other children when Harry stopped him with a gesture of the hand.

"Look." he said while observing his new comrades. Draco and Blaise gave him an odd look before understanding what he meant. All the first years were running for their paper, walking on each other's feet, scrambling around the table. They looked like animals. Harry saw that Daphne had stayed behind, not far from them but without actually reaching their group, and he motioned for her to approach.

 _"_ You're not going to take your schedule?" she asked in a tiny voice.

 _"_ We are waiting for the rush to end," Blaise answered. He had a deep, warm voice, quite calming.

She nodded, and Harry cast an _accio_ to the closest chair for her to sit next to the boys. They looked at him in awe, once again. _  
_

_"_ How do you know how to do that?" asked Malfoy, admiration in the eyes, as Daphne was quietly sitting and thanking Harry with a move of her head. _  
_

_"_ I trained this summer, thanks to the new books I found in my family's manor. But I only know one or two spells, the most useful for the beginners." _  
_

Blaise nodded quietly, apparently impressed. Harry thought that he was going to like that boy. He was calm, quiet, and Harry was pretty sure he had a very well-functioning mind. Harry took note to look after him too; even if he knew that in the end he would have to make files about pretty much everybody.

Crab and Goyle jostled among the other children to reach the little group, their timetables in hand. It was quite incredible to see them move in a crowd, or more to see the crowd moving away from them.

They waved goodnight and went up, pushing each other in the stairs. _  
_Draco gave Harry a knowing look, to which Harry answered by a raised eyebrow. He didn't have to go into the boy's head to understand his despair of the two giants. _  
_

_"_ Do you still have that little snake with you?"

Daphne asked with her usual little voice, but Harry could see her black eyes glimmering with curiosity. _  
_

The common room was now almost empty; a few first year were talking at the other end of the room. He took the time to look in her eyes, and was surprised by what he found. She was a fierce lady, that one, and smart on the top of that. Plus, she was curious. It could be good to have her on his side. It wasn't like he could hide for a long time the fact that he was talking to his snake to people that lived with him anyway. And a demonstration of trust always leaded for people to more faith.

He smiled at her.

 ** _"_** **Get out, little one. There are people I want to show you."** _  
_The three others almost jumped in surprise.

 _"_ You're a Parselmouth!" exclaimed Draco, whispering.

They each approached to be able to see the serpent, and Draco and Blaise went to fetch two armchairs. They had formed a circle without even realizing it; creating some kind of complicity. None of them dared touch the snake, even after Harry had assured them that she would not bite. The boys finally said goodnight to Daphne and went to their own dormitories, where everyone was already sleeping.

Harry waited and when he was sure everyone was sleeping, he went back downstairs to write his letter, and finally took his potion's book to study, Ananta peacefully sleeping on his neck.

At the first hours of the morning, he went to shower, put his uniform and headed to the hall for breakfast. He sent Onyx with his letter and enjoyed the deserted room while he could, reading a treaty of medicine that he had bought with him. The silent hall spread an atmosphere of calm and peace that no one could have imagined, and that he was sure only a few had the possibility to truly enjoy it. Ananta was eating a piece of meat and playing around the plate, but he let her, no one was here to see her. About an hour later, he saw a mop of brown hair at the Gryffindor's table. She gave his snake a frustrated look that made Harry smirk. She was still searching. _  
_

Of course, he was the first one to arrive in the potion's lesson. The room was the image of its owner, and Harry took the opportunity to close his eyes. _  
_

Draco arrived a bit later, obviously stressed about having lessons with his godfather; one could see it by the arrogant smirk on his face. It was incredible how he looked like his father with that expression. He sat between Crabbe and Goyle after waving Harry a hello. Harry did wonder what a witty boy like Draco could find in these gorillas; it was not like he needed physical protection as far as he knew.

Blaise and Daphne finally sat at each of his sides and they waited for Snape to arrive

Snape arrived, slamming the door as usual. Harry wondered what the castle's doors had done to the man to deserve such a treatment. _  
_

_"_ I don't expect many of you to be gifted in the precise and delicate art of potions." He said raising his crooked nose in dare, his arms crossed on his chest. However, for the selected few, I can teach you how to put death in a bottle..." Once again he looked at the class. This man looked like he hated children. Harry saw Draco get tensed and a fake-proud grin appeared on his face.

 _"_ Harry Potter, our new celebrity..." grunted Snape. _  
_

Harry didn't blink. He knew it was some kind of revenge for what happened at the ceremony. He rose his most convincing innocent eyes at the teacher. _  
_

_"_ What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

 _"_ I believe it is a Draught of the Living Death's potion, Sir," he said, voluntarily ignoring the trains girl's hand that she had rose so quickly that she almost left her seat in the process.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne and Blaise smirk. Of course, he knew the answer, he had read the entire book during the night. But it didn't change the vileness of the question: it was well-known at least among the adults that Harry had been raised by muggles and therefore should have some lack of knowledge. Luckily for him, he had anticipated that, but Snape didn't know it, which meant that he was trying to trick him. The only question was: what for? _  
_

Snape narrowed his eyes and turned back to fetch his book like nothing had happened. Harry took the time to note the question: it was strangely precise for a casual question.

Somewhere at the back of his head he could almost hear someone laugh. _  
_When they left the class, Blaise burst out laughing.

 _"_ Did you see his face? I think you broke his momentum. He's known for taking a punchbag every year, but they are Gryffindor's, usually." _  
_

Harry nodded. Well, at least everyone was aware that the man what an asshole. Gifted, obviously, but still. _  
_

_"_ I wondered why he tried to do this on you..." Daphne whispered.

It was a goddamn good question. Harry shrugged. _  
"_ Don't bother, Daphne. He failed anyway."

As they were leading toward the next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry discreetly made a mocking sign to the girl of the train, pointing to the tail of the little snake that was slightly above his collar. She pouted and accelerated, followed closely by Neville.

Harry wondered about the very title of the lesson. Wouldn't be more useful to teach defence against magic globally? And how come people that didn't have a clue on what and how to practice dark arts would be able to fully understand how to defend themselves against them?

However, he was sort of excited about these lessons. Quirrell was a mystery, and Harry couldn't decide if his apparent weakness was fake. But, and it was the most important, he was the only external link Harry had with the red-eyes man. He still needed to find out who this one was, but he didn't have the time to look upon famous figures, as he preferred to train his abilities and his control on his magic. He didn't want to accidentally blow up a classroom. He wondered what Damien was doing right now. He was feeling an empty space at his side, and it was disturbing.

Ha sat next to Neville, as the other Slytherins had taken a full line. Daphne gave him a sorry look, but he only slightly raised an eyebrow. _  
_

When he noticed who was sitting next to him, Neville got immediately tensed. Harry didn't understand this reaction, he had never talked to the boy before, until he saw Neville send a panicked look to the Weasley boy. So, this one was a gossip, huh? It was new expectations, for him to be evil and terrible.

And as usual, Harry hated expectations. _  
_He held out his hand to the other boy, who, after a horrified grimace, squeezedit. His hand was flabby and his hands were moist.

 _Ron said he almost killed him, he may still have the snake with him! Does he want to kill me now? His eyes are really scary! But I did nothing wrong! And he is always with these Slytherins, the death eater's children..._

Breaking the contact, Harry smiled to him.  
"I guess you know who I am." He said softly. "You shouldn't trust everything Ron said, the boy seems to have a running imagination. Don't worry, Neville, I'm not going to hurt you."

He had said it with a firm but calming voice and surprise appeared on Neville's round face.  
"Ho-how do you know my name?"

"Well it is hard to forget the name of the boy who's toad was running all over the train."

Neville blushed and gave a little laugh. That was better. He saw the Weasley boy staring at him with furious eyes, but he didn't bother. The boy had almost hurt Ananta, and that wasn't something Harry could forgive. And the boy didn't have any idea of what he had done with his stupid rumours.  
Well, they were partly true, but those were only details.

Harry felt his scar warming before Quirrell entered into the classroom. The professor presented himself, his subject,in his usual shuttering, and the class was over. Harry was disappointed.

"Potter!" He heard Quirrell calling behind him.  
Harry went back to the professor's desk, and Quirrell handed him a strange black book.

"It might be useful to you. Take a good care of it, it's the only one I have."  
His voice wasn't shuttering anymore.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said before joining the others.

"What did he want?" asked Draco when they were finally reunited.

"He gave me a book on DADA, for me to get ahead." 

"But why would he do that?"

The other stopped and gave him an obvious look, and it took at least ten seconds for the blond to realize.

 _My, my,_ Harry thought, _Crabbe and Goyle have a bad influence on him._

The lessons in Magical history was boring, mostly because the teacher was a ghost, but it made Harry take consciousness of something: the past of magic was also its present. It wasn't like in the muggle's world, a memory, a knowledge, no, it was effective.

It was all they had for the day, so the little group went back into the dungeons. They sat at the same place as the last evening. Draco and Blaise started to argue on quidditch teams (Harry supposed it was some sort of magical sport), under the empty look of Crabbe and Goyle. Daphne was playing chess with another girl, and Harry started reading the book Quirrell had given him. It was a spell book, but far more advanced than what he was supposed to learn, and Harry was pretty sure that at least half of them were considered as black magic. So, Harry had to find a place to sleep alone, and a place to practice discreetly. That was going to be difficult. He took note for himself to look for a map of the castle the next day. He wasn't supposed to be out of his bed at night, but he hadn't crossed anybody early in the morning. He guessed that the surveillance was assured by the prefects, which meant teenagers who were more probably trying to seduce someone than doing their tasks. 

When they went to dinner, Harry noticed that Neville and the train girl saluted him discreetly.

This was good news, because he knew he would need more than only Slytherin to do whatever he would need later. And nobody could suspect him having accountancy with Gryffindor's.

He ate in silence. Draco as usual was leading the conversation, talking about his father. It wasn't that anybody was really listening, but nobody had the heart to stop him, he was just so enthusiastic.

Harry left the others while they were returning to the dungeons. He hid himself in an empty classroom and waited for the school to fall asleep. The idea of a map of the castle wasn't bad, but it would be better if he did it himself. He was pretty sure that none of the secret passages were on those maps. And by looking onto things himself, he could find some stuff about the different prefects and professors. It wasn't like he was going to sleep anyway.

Unfortunately, he didn't meet anyone to spy on, except for Filch of course, but the man was blind or stupid for he didn't see him, and no room was safe enough for him to sleep in a complete night. At least, he had the chance to show Ananta places to hide just in case, even if she protested that she was "very big" and "would eat anyone that tried to bother her dear speaker". He finally headed back to the common room, took his shower, put his new books in his bag, and sat in his corner of the room, wrapping himself in the shadows, waiting to have the legal right to go eat his breakfast.

The first lesson of the next day was charms and Harry was tense. He was far beyond what was expected from a first year, but if he knew he could control his magic when he was the only one doing it, he wasn't sure of his reflexes near a magical explosion of some sort. He laughed internally when he understood that his apprehension was coming from the fact of having Damien near him every day until now. He didn't fear for himself.

Flitwick started his first class by teaching them the levitation charm, but they actually didn't have to cast anything. Once again, Harry didn't understand why things were so slow.

All the teachers seemed to give him a look every time he entered in a class, but Harry chose to ignore them with a polite smile. At least none of them hated him for no real reasons like Snape did.

He was good. He knew he was. Draco followed him almost everywhere, with Daphne and Blaise, and eventually Crabbe and Goyle. It was obvious to see who was the leader of the group, but Harry didn't want only leadership. 

He needed loyalty.

* * *

The third night he hid in a deserted classroom and slept. Ananta was guarding in case anybody entered but they were no incident. He wished he was home. 

It was on the third early breakfast that the train girl actually came towards him. The hall was empty as usual.

"She is feeding on your magic." She said in a high preachy tone. "That's why she doesn't look like any other snake."

And without another word, she turned back and went out. 

Harry was impressed. She was smart, but he had already guessed that as she always answered every professor's question, but she was also obstinate and obviously brave, as she came to talk to him despite the rumours he knew was running around Gryffindor.  
He decided to wait for the others this time.

When Draco saw Harry, he sat next to him. The boy had noticed that Harry's bed was never unmade, and that he never came to the dormitories with the others, but he didn't ask questions.

Harry self-healing abilities allowed him to avoid having dark circles around his eyes, but his control wasn't as good as it should be, and he started to feel the after-effects. 

He was talking with Blaise about the realities between Snape and Quirrell when the mail arrived. It was truly fun to see all the little packets fall more or less into the student's food.

He opened Damien's letter immediately.

 _Dear Brother,  
Witches are witches, and I think that sums up all your first day. I hope all of them aren't as mad as they seem to be, but that would explain a lot. You're a Slytherin, uh? Well, I can't say that it is really a surprise, but I would give anything to see A. D's face when it happened. Well, now you are a little snake, ain't you?  
_

_I've done researches on the Weasley boy, as (I don't know why really) I thought you would want to have things on him. He is from a "blood traitor" family, which means a pure blood family that had fallen in disgrace, probably poor and strangely close to the muggles. Apparently, he has a lot of brothers still in Hogwarts: Fred and George (twins), and Percy. The last one is in the ministry's favour, unlike the rest of his family apparently (I still haven't found why exactly). But there is something more useful: they hate the Malfoys for generations. It explains Draco's reaction in the train. I've opened a file about them both in your office.  
_

_I think I would like to meet the girl-with-no-name. It's a bit frustrating to wander in the big library alone._

 _I must tell you that I've found something rather strange about the pure blood families. As you asked I started to look into them, but it is your comment on the number of witches in Hogwarts that made me think: they may have a problem at birth, but I'll look into that later.  
The manor is running well, and Gladis is perfect (did you asked her to look after me? Because I'm starting to worry I have a second shadow with globular eyes, it's rather terrifying)._

 _Apparently, there aren't any witches in the village downhill, but the elves told me things that could be incidents. I'll look into this as well (I think I'm working more that you do!)._

 _For your sleeping problem: have you think about looking into the different legends about Hogwarts? It may lead you to a secret room or something.  
_

_Anyway, all is fine. I hope you will fit well in the school, and please, be a good boy for me. Salute Ananta and tell her the same thing (Do I sound like an old mother? Because I think I do)._

 _I miss you,_

 _D._

 _PS: we should find a code for the names in our letters, in case someone is reading over your shoulder. I wouldn't want you to be in trouble!_

Harry had smiled during all the time he had read the letter. I really missed his brother, and he could almost hear him through the letter. He hadn't noticed that his part of the table had gonesilent.  
It was the first time they saw a real smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 4

Hy! A new Chapter!

I wanted to asnwer to the two reviews I had: First, thank you very much for your compliments on my story, I have a lot of idead and I really hope all of you like it! Second: I know there is typos. My English isn't that well and I have some sort of dislexy. I'll try to return to the previous chapters and correct them, or ask someone else to do it. I apologize if it bothers you in your reading, but I'll try to improve!

I'm posting these charpters very fast because I won't be able to write next week, due to exams.

As always, I hope you will enjoy reading this chapter!

Chap 4:

Harry had finally found who was the red-eye man. He only had to look upon a book about the most famous wizards and witches of the century, that he had borrowed at the school library and copy, like all the book he could put his hand on. He was pretty sure he could start making money with that, but money wasn't his first problem.  
And he really didn't want to sleep anymore. And he was weakening. There was nothing he could do but he knew the next time he will fall asleep he will saw the man.

And for that he needed to be more than ready.

The fact that the man had killed his parents wasn't his bigger trouble, he had grieved them, well the idea he had of them long ago, the fact that he had access to his head was actually more problematic. Damien was actually looking for everything he could about it, about the war, but they would run out of time as Harry was running out of energy. He had almost fainted twice during the week-end, and god dammit it was his first week at school.

He had sat in his usual corner of the common room, trying to read the book Quirell had given him. He didn't felt the darkness slowly invading his mind.

He found himself into the same bathroom as the last time. Harry took a deep breath. One thing was sure, and it was that he didn't want to die, especially not in his sleep.

Voldemort was looking at him. His face didn't show any expression, of course. Once again Harry was surprise how much they looked alike. Except for the fact that Harry had an invalid weak body and that Voldemort was radiant of power. But, as the was wasn't really 20 years old, it didn't mean much. And Harry wasn't actually sure that it was an advantage for the Dark Lord. After all, the one that need to claim that he is the king is never really the king.

The boy didn't even want to think about how he could remain that calm in front of the Dark Lord, the man that had killed his parents, and many more people, and accessory tried to kill him, the man that surely wanted revenge...

"I believe we need to talk." Voldemort said.

The man's voice was as calm and cold as always.

Harry felt a pressure inside his brain. And it wasn't Voldemort; he had already deduced that the voice was him and therefore he knew the taste of his magic. And Voldemort wasn't aggressive. Luring, lying, mocking with odd relents of sadism maybe, but not aggressive. No, this was a voice, a scream, something that was stuck in his mind and that he already heard.

"Only remember: show the exact opposite of what you are. Too many already have a clue."

Voldemort voice was smothered and smoke started to slip trough the stones of the room as the scream went louder.

"Pass three times in front of the tapestry ... trolls ... seventh ..."

As the Dark Lord's voice became blurry, Harry saw his face slowly turning into something monstrous, and his expression turning into something harry had never seen on a human face.

Harry woke up. He was still in the common room, and no one around seemed to have noticed that he had fall asleep for hours. He went to the real bathroom the wash his scar whom had started bleeding once again.

And now, he had a very good plan. Well, a bit too much Dark-Lord-related, but as the man seemed to be everywhere it wasn't like he had the choice.  
It took him weeks to finally find the place Voldemort had indicated, but it was worth it.

Harry actually put every hour he had on profit. He had helped multiples students from every house, mostly causal acts of politeness, and soon people stopped treated him like he was the Dark Lord in training- which the more he learns the more he felt attracted to, ironically. He had managed to find an abandoned classroom, obviously since years, and slept in it. Thanks to that, his health was improving. He still had nightmares to the point that he had to remember to himself that Vernon was fucking dead, killed by himself and that he needed to stop fearing shadows in the corners. He even took time to get out of the castle to visit Hagrid- not the most pleasant moment of his week, but it needed to be done. He was a very pleasant student, always smiling, his hands behind his back. he was brilliant- not the best, he took well care of it- but still. Snape still hated him for no reason, but Harry didn't bother for as far as he knew the man was the only one in the castle to make sens, as he was the only one not praising the all-mighty Dumbledore.

Their first flying lesson with the... energetic Professor Hooch, Harry discovered that he was good on a broom, not as much as Draco (but the boy was obsessed with quidditch), but good. During all the lesson's first part, when the other students were trying to tell to their broom to stand up, Weasley glared at Harry. Well, until Neville's broom started to fly on his own.

"Mister Longbottom! Get down right now!" ordered Hooch.

But the boy's broom was raising more and more far from the ground, and Neville's only priority was not to fall to his death. Quite understandable, really.  
He finally fell from his broomstick under the panicked glances of his comrades and remained hanging by the cape at the tip of a statue. It was obvious that the thing wouldn't last long, but the teacher did not seem to intend to do anything but look, his mouth open, making Harry wondered if someone actually had the abilities to teach in this damn school.

The cloak began to tear apart despite Neville's cries of protest. Harry couldn't use raw magic, obviously, nor a spell in front of one of the teachers. He couldn't use his broomstick as it would force him to actually touch Neville, no, that was out of the question.

 _Think, Harry, think..._

He was certainly not letting the poor kid fall to his death and no one around him seemed to use his goddamn brain and to fetch his wand.  
The cape ends up yielding.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

They didn't have practiced the spell during lessons, but at least it was something he was supposed to know. And it was one that Harry had practiced a lot this summer, thanks to some old books he had found in his own library, which gave some quite different techniques to cast the spell.

Neville stopped in the middle of the air, breathless, and with a spin of his wand, Harry lowered him to the ground. Maybe not as slowly as he should have, but it wasn't like he was an expert of landing other people to the ground.

Hootch got out of her freezing session and actually ran toward the boy that the other student were already helping to get up.  
Griffondors were looking at him like he was a hero. They surely didn't expect this type of behavior from a Slytherin, and even more from the one that were described to them as the Death-Eater-Friendly and Dangerous-Snake-Owner.

Well, he _had_ to be the Golden Boy.

The Slytherins were mostly impressed by his ability to cast the spell, but they couldn't figure out why he had helped the helpless and ridiculous Neville Longbottom. Not that Harry were about to give them an explanation soon, and they surely couldn't be close to figure out everything that was in his twisted mind. Actually, they would probably lose themselves and catch a headache if they tried, and considering the recent events, found themselves in front of Lord Voldemort, which was something generally accepted as "to avoid in any case".

But the most pleasant thing, until he found the room, was that he had managed to avoid Dumbledore, and that was hard. The man always seems to pop out of nowhere, sending some m'boy and giving everyone candies. Merlin that man could be creepy sometimes. But it was genius. All the students were looking at him like he was Merlin in person, and in fact Harry wasn't sure he could factually disagree with the statement as the man did look like Merlin, was the most powerful witch in the world currently (if he considered Voldemort as dead, which he was in a sens), and one of the most trusted too.

The other Slytherin of his class didn't really care of him, well except for his usual group and the Can-you-gave-me-an-autographe-please thing. Luckily enough, Dracowas always on his side so no one had the space to give him a tap on the shoulder. Harry didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse, but he had to take the better of every situation, right? And he wasn't sure that he would actually be able not to blew up whomever tried to touch him. A dark Lord in his head was enough, he really didn't need a teenage's hand on his back.

He decided to write to Damien once a week, as Gladis said the boy was perfectly OK and passed his days happily wandering in the library. He had already found some nicknames he would give to his comrades, and he had to admit he was kind of proud of it. Draco would be Blonde (obviously his father B. Sr), Daphne was Laurel, Blaise the Spider, Crabbe and Goyle the Right and Left Arm, Snape was Batman and Dumbledore It. Using muggle references was actually a good idea as Harry had discovered that the withes were actually cut from anything from the muggle world.

Harry didn't felt the presence of the voice, even at the back of his head. It must have been weakened somehow.

And he had found the room. After passing multiple times in the same corridor, watching for a tapestry with troll on it, the door appeared for the first time. He took him a few more days to understand how it worked and to actually opened his room. And it was about time, because Ananta was soon-to-be-unhidable.

He passed three time in front of the tapestries, thinking "A place to prepare". The door that appeared was in dark wood with the emblem of Hogwarts carved into it. He had divided the place, and it had actually became a real base. The first part of the room was a big living room with a dark table at the center and a fireplace. Harry had decorated it on the colors of Hogwarts- maybe in darker tones and with a lot of green, but he was a Slytherin after all. Around it, there was four room: Harry's chamber, in which he only asked for a simple bed and where he had put his most precious books, including the one Quirell gave to him. The second room was what one could call a room of knowledge. A big map, an actual living map, of hogwarts was taking entirely a wall, and it was the place where Harry had put the books he had started to copy (he had food the copy spell in the bag of a fourth's year Ravencloth under the form of a genuinely good-looking book that only waited for him to take it). He had asked for couches and a vivarium too.

The third room was a training room, with weapons and dolls (he may have asked for a doll with the flamboyant Dumbledore's robes but he couldn't manage to put his eyes on it. Harry wondered if the Griffondor's tower did burn brain cells to the point that the man was almost blind). The last room was... useless for the moment. Harry actually hoped that he would never have to use it.

The boy had the feeling that the castle liked him.

Harry decided to sleep in there when he could, and split his night schedule to appeared in the dorms, and actually unmade his bed. He passed long hours in the common room too, listening to the gossips, evaluating the abilities. He wanted to start things after the holidays, the sooner the better and he needed information. And yes, he was perfectly aware that nobodies had ever tried to do something like that that early in his school lifer and that he had a little obsession. But the fear of a massive muggle attack wouldn't want to leave him. The knowledge of what was happening – of what he thought was happening- to the muggleborn in their houses didn't leave him. And well, the fact that an insane psychopathic killer had access to his mind, even to a part of it didn't help his feeling of emergency. He wanted to do something, yes, and the first step of that was to find a way to keep himself alive.

Maybe to stop insulting the Dark Lord in his mind would be a good first start...

He had decided to wait the holidays before talking to Damien about that.

He was as usual sitting in his armchair of the common room, reading Quirell's book (the thing was so far beyond his own knowledge that he had to read it several times to at least understand a bit), his little group around him mostly doing their homework. He didn't notice someone had approached him until his book flew away from his hand.

"Do you think you have the right to sit, Halfblood?"

Harry looked at the seventh year. He wished he didn't, because even if he was used to his relatives faces, god the boy was ugly. Was it even possible to have so much yellow teeth at such a young age?

"You should stop whining, dear, you sound like a Griffondor." Harry's famous polite smile was now very... unpleasant. He had said it loud enough for every one to hear, and a few first year actually started to laugh, the other looking at the scene with a wild interest.

Harry locked his eyes into the fourth year's. Now that was something he could work on, the boy had a lot of secrets, and not many defenses. Too bad.

"Listen, I get that you have a complex because a half-blood is having better grades than you did, but if you look closely to your case, you'll discover that a troll would have better grades than you do. But that's not your fault, right? After all, your mother's a squib..."

The boy paled. The Slytherins gasped. And Harry stood still, a polite smile on his face, as always. I was enjoying himself a lot right now.

"How dare you..."

"How dare I? Yeah I wonder how... but that leads us to another question: how dare you, son of a squib and a forgotten pureblood family dare disturb the peaceful work of all the Slytherins here? How dare you, who cannot even cast a correct action without making the room explode ask me to move? I mean, unless you want to fight muggle style I just cannot see how you could win this one, dear."

The fourth year was stuck and he knew it. He just stayed, and glare at Harry, the mouth open.

"Come on now you are boring. And we don't like to be bored."

Draco's voice flashed in the room. He was standing next to Harry, a hand on the back of his chair, clearly showing his allegiance. He was looking at the boy with a delicately raised eyebrow and a mocking smirk, like he was merely an insect buzzing to closely to his ears. And harry was certain that it wasn't a comparison. Now, that was a Draco Harry liked.

Daphne sigh.

"Are you done?" She said. "Some people are actually trying to use their brain here."

This was the fatal blow.

The fourth year looked around him for support, but founded none. He retreated back out of the common room, and everyone burst out of laughter around Harry's little group, which had returned to their activities like nothing had happened.

Halloween was getting closer. And witches, for sure, didn't joke with Halloween. There was pumpkins everywhere, so many candies that Harry was surprise that half of the school wasn't at the hospital's wing for intoxication, and ghosts. Harry had been genuinely horrified the first time he had seen one, and couldn't get used to it. Not only witches liked to die early, but once dead they remained to... well Harry hadn't figure out what exactly they were doing all day, except for the one that was his history teacher of course. To think about it, even this one was still up to debate.

Even with new night organization, Harry took the habit of heading into the hall as soon as it was authorized and to immerse himself into a medical book. He had not yet found anything looking like Damien's symptoms and he was frustrated. To tell the truth, he had thought that it would be easy to find, with such a large library, but it wasn't, it really wasn't. It made him want to cry, to throw the table away, to tear up the book, to go to this god-damn ministry and put a bullet in the head of the one that was in charge of the muggleborns, and then of all the insects that passed the laws and created the system that couldn't help his brother, and had let both of them be destroyed without a blink.

But instead he was sitting quietly in the empty hall, a coffee on the table, reading with a peaceful expression on his face.

He was so concentrated on his book that he didn't notice the person behind him until the shadow touch the page he was reading.

"What are you doing here at that hour Harry m'boy?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry quickly check the hour, but he was actually allowed to be here. No, the man couldn't just refrain himself from harassing him. And slow down his work. Harry wanted to throw something at the man's face. Something like a glass, his hand, or maybe the chair that he could see a little further.

"I'm studying, Sir." He said with his good-and-innocent-student-voice.

"You are a very serious student indeed. Your teacher can't stop to praise you to me actually. Well, except for the professor Snape of course, but one cannot be perfect..."  
Harry rose amazed eye on the headmaster. He was really amazed. The man just insulted under cover one of the teachers to gain the favor of a student and harry was pretty sure that it wasn't something you are supposed to do even in the wizarding world. Plus, it was about Snape. Even if Harry was brave he would dare to disrespect the man, well not before being pretty sure that he would never need to eat or drink something anymore.

"Now m'boy, it's a chance that I've seen you here: I wanted to ask you if you were well in Hogwarts. I've heard you've made some friends?"

"Yes Sir, I like it here. And the Slytherins of my class are very nice, especially Draco! It was a bit hard at first, you know, to learn all of that and stuff, but everything is so fascinating!"

Harry's voice could have melted an iceberg. He sent a big childish smile to the headmaster, taking good care to close his mind as much as he could.

"Then I'm glad. You know, it was a surprise to see you at Slytherin, both of your parents were Griffondors after all..."

What the hell. What was the man doing. Why did he talk to an eleven years old about his dead parents during breakfast like it was nothing.

Suddenly Harry understood.

 _He wants me to get closer to him. He wants me to talk to him!_

He lowered his head.

"I know, Sir, but I've heard some of my family were in Slytherin too!"

Dumbledore nodded with a little smile, his eyes sparkling. He was looking at the boy with... tenderness? And sadness?

Harry was confused. He had the feeling that the headmaster actually cared about him, but his behavior was so contradictory... What the hell was wrong with this man? And wasn't it just a mask to lure the of so poor and innocent boy he was supposed to be? To check if his wasn't becoming a Dark Lord bis? Thinking about it, if Harry hadn't been warned by Voldemort before meeting the man he wouldn't be so suspicious about him and his approach would actually be nice and caring.

It gave Harry a headache.

The headmaster finally went away, his bright yellow robes floating around his like a cloud of lemon.

Harry had decided to return Quirell's book. He had had the time to copy it, and even to send a copy to Damien, among other books. At the end of the lesson, he went to meet the professor.

Quirell's lessons were actually fascinating if you didn't intend to fight against dark forces. Well, nobody wanted to fight against a dark mage, except maybe Griffondors, but they were out of comprehension for they didn't even try to understand what they were actually doing for the most part.

Harry put the book on the professor's desk and Quirell looked at him with confusion.

"A-are you alre-alredy D-d-done with it, Po-potter?"

"I made a copy, Sir, as you told me it was the only one you had."

Quirell nodded. He didn't look at Harry in the eyes.

"Professor, is that a Blue campanula?"

Harry walked around the desk and walked to the back of the classroom, where, hidden behind various disturbing objects, was a pot of magnificent little blue flowers. As he approached, he discovered that there were in fact many other pots hidden behind the pillar, so that no one but the teacher, standing on the platform, could see them. Under the autumn sun, their petals glowed gently. Harry knew the language of flowers thanks to Damien, who had insisted on teaching him for days. The boy approached and gently touched one of the petals. Why make me suffer? Said the flower. Quirell was still a few feet away, watching him in silence. Next to the pots, he had an open herbarium. The professor had annotated each of the flowers, which was preserved in a fine and distinguished handwriting. There were also a few lines of poetry here and there.

"He is asleep, isn't he?"

Harry didn't have to specify who was the he. Quirell nodded timidly.

"You can call me Harry."

The professor looked at him in surprise. The boy's voice was actually sweet, not the silkiness that he used to actually lure people, no, it was voice of compassion. They both understood they were in the same situation.

And Quirell actually expected for someone supposedly as powerful and famous as Harry Potter to mock his flowers.

But Harry was a very complex being.

Actually, the boy was... touch. This corner of the room, invisible for the others was a place of delicacy.

"What is this flower, professor?" he asked pointing at a white flower with five star-shaped petals and small purple dots.

"Tha-that's Hellebore. I've f-found it in one of my-my travels..."

Harry took a chair. He sat peacefully here for almost two hours, listening Quirell talk to him about his flowers. It was actually interesting, much more that his usual lessons, and the man seemed passionate. It was something he liked for himself. Quirell was actually a brilliant mind, and by that Harry meat a fucking genius in his specialties. He just had so many information, that sometimes he forgot to shutter. The boy just couldn't understand why someone that peaceful was working for the Dark Lord.

Actually, Harry was pretty sure that Quirell was living the same thing that he did himself, but more intensively, maybe more willingly. He was suffering, it was obvious to Harry. He could easily spot the signs, the tense back, how he twisted his hands when he spoke, how his lips sometimes stretched... But the most surprising thing was the sadness in his eyes. It was a pit of melancholy, like a sweet but suffocating mist. The man knew it wouldn't end well, but had accepted it. It made Harry wants to scream, to wake him up, but he knew it was too late. The man was far beyond reach. He was a reminiscence of himself, of what he once was and what he could have been.

Harry browses the man's herbrarium as he was still talking. His writing had become shaky and unreadable on the last pages. Like his voice. And he didn't give any sigh of noticing how far he was. Harry wondered what he had done to be in this state, and feared a bit for what could happen to himself one day.  
Harry put his hand a few centimeters above Quirell's and but his magic passed gently through his skin. By necessity, he had become very gifted to relieve the pain, and a luminous halo quickly encompassed his hand. Quirell relaxed under the magic stream.  
Harry withdrew his hand and headed towards the door.

"Thank you." he heard in his back.

Harry was heading to the Halloween's feast when he saw the train's girl running on the other side of the corridor, obviously crying, hitting the Weasley boy's shoulder on the run. Curious, Harry told Draco and the others to go ahead for he had forgotten something, and followed her.

To see such a smart girl crying was strange.  
He saw her entering the girl's bathroom, and left for the feast: she was in a place he couldn't reach, and it was a loss of time to wait for her in the corridor. Still, he was decided to have that girl on his side one day or another.  
He was making a joke about how Snape was perfectly fitting in the Halloween's decoration- with all his respect of course sorry Draco but you have to admit reality, when the Hall's doors slammed around a panicked Quirell.

"Troll in the dungeons! Troll in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know."  
And he fainted.

Immediately, everybody started to scream, living the poor man on the floor. Harry hissed Ananta to get back around his arm (she was now too big to hide around his neck), and was about to see if Quirell was actually alive, even if it seemed that he was the only one who cared, when the headmaster stood up.

"SILENCE."

He didn't even scream, his voice was just... everywhere, strong and calm. Immediately, everybody stood still, effectively in silence.

"Prefects, escort the students in their dormitories. Professors follow me please."

He looked perfectly OK for the headmaster of a school invaded by a troll. But Harry didn't know if he had to put that on the fact that he was a witch, a Griffondor, insane or the three of the above.

Mme Pomfrey ran toward Quirell. The Slytherin's prefects led them to the dungeons, but Harry only followed them half the way.

The girl was still in the bathroom.

Cursing his Griffondor blood, he ran toward the corridors, not noticing at first that Draco Daphne and Zambini were following him. Not until he had to hide a few feet away from his goal and his comrade actually caught him. The troll's shadow was at the other side of the corridor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Whispered Blaise

"Trying to save a student."

"But that's stupid!"

"Not much more than following me without knowing where I was going."

Harry's voice was confident and the troll was actually entering the bathrooms. They all shut up under the veracity of the argument (and the closeness of the troll).  
He turned towards the others.

"Trust me, and stay here. If anything happened wrong, I want you on backup. Which mean I want you to be able to run for your life. Am I clear?"  
They nodded. It was crazy how Harry's voice was made to give orders. And they started to know the boy: he wasn't doing it without a thought. No, he probably had a very precise thing in mind.

And he did. Maybe.

He ran to the bathroom's entrance.

"Down!" He said, beholding Hermione standing the mouth open in front of the troll. Which was huge. The troll, not the mouth. She immediately obeyed, just in time to avoid a cudgel shot.

He had to get the troll out.

 **"Ananta, hide behind the pillar and observe. I want you to tell me if I'm going to be hit on the back."**

The little snake immediately obeyed.

He felt his magic starting to twirl around him, and a familiar presence at the back of his head. He had to keep control. He had to keep control. He had to keep control... What would Damien say? Ha yes: please don't make the place explode.

 _Let's try that._

The girl avoided another hit and the cudgel was finally in line of sight.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_."

He pulled the troll out, gently pushing his cudgel forward. When the creature was no longer across the passage, he made a sign to the girl to go out, and to her surprise she placed herself at his side and raised her wand. They were soon joined by the Slytherin, excepting Draco who trembled behind the pillar. It wasn't an act of bravery.

No, they were actually circling the troll. Draco finally rejoined them, tacking deep breath and hardly composing arrogance and boredom on his face.

They were protecting Harry.

But they didn't know many spells, especially not fighting spells.

"Make him fall."

Nobody even thought about discussing. They all stared at each other, and it was the girl that had the idea.

" _Alarte Ascendare!_ "

The spell was well done and one of the troll's leg rise, unbalancing the monster. All the others imitated him and the troll fell forward, a few centimeters from Harry's feet. The boy placed the club over his head and dropped it. The cub hit the troll's head in a big disgusting flabby noise. They grinned in disgust.

"What the hell is going on?"

They turned to see a very vindictive Macgonagall, escorted by a fuming Snape, a shaking Quirell and a shocked Mme Pomfray.

"They... they saved me professor. I was in the bathroom and the Troll came and if it wasn't for Potter, I would be dead..."

Harry gave her a surprised look. So that was Griffondor's bravery...

"And why did you do that instead of alerting a professor, Mr Potter?" Snape's voice was sharp as ice, and Harry actually felt intimidated. He had never seen the man that furious before. Would it be that he cared?

"Yeah Potter, why did you saved her? She's a mudblood!" Draco said in his most snooty voice.

All the others froze under the insult.

Harry rose an eyebrow, his hands behind his back.

"So was my mother. I'm half-blood, remember? It doesn't stop us for having better grades than you, Draco. She is a talented and smart witch and she fought with us.

She fought on our side. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

He looked at each of the Slytherins in the eyes as he nodded negatively. None of them were lying.

"Draco?" Harry insisted.

He finally imitated them, but with less conviction.

"Good."

Harry locked his eyes into the blond's. He was weak. Oh Merlin, he was thinking about his family. What would they say when they'll learn about that? But mostly, he was terrified. Blaise was made out of honor, Daphne's family was known as quite tolerant among the purebloods (Damien had assured him so), but Draco had never fought. Draco had to keep his family up. He didn't know what he was in...

Harry will have to change that.

Then he turned back towards the girl, totally ignoring the confused looks of the different teacher which apparently didn't have anything to say. He took the girl's hand and gave a kiss over her finger, delicately smiling.

"It was a pleasure to fight on your side, Hermione Granger." he said.

And then, suddenly remembering the teachers, they all turned towards them, waiting for a permission or a punishment.

All of them looked at Harry in disbelief, and with different levels of pride and surprised contentment. Harry noted that it was the first time Snape didn't look at him with scorn.

It was at this moment Harry saw his wound on the leg. Following his look, the crooked-nose man wrapped up in his cloth to hide.

Why Merlin did the man have a giant dog bite on his leg?

"Well, it is unusual for first-year students to win against a troll of caves and get out alive, all the more without injuries... I think ten point each would be enough."

" You cannot remove fifty point to Slytherin because they saved me!" Hermione insisted.

All the Slytherin looked at her in surprise. Harry couldn't repress a grin. He had chosen well.

"No, Miss Grager, I'm giving fifty point to Slytherin. And ten for Griffondor." Macgonagall said with a little smile.

They all sigh in relief.

"Now." Snape said in his drawling voice "I suggest you all return to your dormitories before you actually get killed."

They all left quickly. Harry made a discreet hiss at Ananta and the little snake jumped around his arm without any of the teachers noticing. None of the Slytherin talked as they were heading to the Slytherin's common room. They sat at their usual spot and waited for Harry's explanation.

"I'll explain all after the holidays." He said simply. "There is still things I need to look after, but you will have your answers. You fought well. The circle was very smart. " All of them nodded. Luckily for Harry, they had seen enough of his abilities to be certain that he had a very well thought plan about something. And they had seen enough to know that they wanted to be on his side. Or that they certainly didn't want to be against him. Plus, they felt proud of his compliments. They had fought on each other's side and actually won like good Slytherin: by using strategy. And earn points for their house, and apparently impressed many professors. They started to seen all the good sides of Harry's idea, even if they were still shaken of how crazy the idea was. And they had stunned a troll, for Merlin's sake!

The situation was perfect for Harry. He could genuinely pass for a hero among the Griffondors, and was still considered as the future Dark Lord by the Slytherins. He still had work to do, and it wouldn't be easy to stay in the balance, but he was touching his first goal.

Nobody knew who he was really rooting for.

And that wasn't mentioning the allies he could find in the process. That was a good day, by Circe.

But he was curious about Snape's reaction. He hated the Griffondors, it was well known, and was always unbearable with Hermione during his classes, so much that the girl had actually left a few time already. Who could have said that he was a muggleborn's protector? Harry surely would have to look into that. It was really infuriating not to be able to read at least the very top of his mind.

And to lock the information faaaaar away from the Voldemort friendly's part of his mind. Like... many other things. Actually if he could lock that part away from himself it would be nice.

Draco proposed for Harry to pass the holidays at his manor, but the boy politely declined, he had his own manor to run after all.

"You mean that you have a manor all for yourself?" asked the blond in disbelief – an emotion that he was starting to know far to well and strangely always related to Harry Potter.

"Yup, as an orphan and the last of my name, I'm the only heir. It's not like they could force me to stay with the muggles..."

"Wait, the muggles?"

This time it was Daphne's turn not to believe what she was hearing.

"Yes, I was raised by muggles."

"That must have been horrible..."

The others nodded. Harry didn't know much what to say. Yes it was, in every way, but He was hoping that it wasn't because they were muggles, but because they were stupid, cruel and had very big anger issues. Maybe some of them weren't actually that bad... but the Slytherins weren't ready for that.

"Well yes it was. But I'll have to ask you not to divulge this, I don't want Dumbledore to know that I have my own home."  
They all went silent, looking at each other and clearly wandering if harry was totally crazy. Which he was, but it was another question.  
They were all sitting in the little abandoned classroom that Harry had found and slept in, sitting around a table for more privacy. He didn't want to show them his Chamber yet, no that was a surprise for when it would be needed (and sadly he was sure that it would be needed someday). They liked the feeling of being a secret society or something, and they actually needed secret. Only Harry knew how much, but the other started to have an idea.

It wasn't like Dumbledore was liked among the Slytherins anyway.

"Yeah, he still thinks that I live with the muggles. I'll explain why with the rest after the holidays, because it is a really long story and I'm only touching the top. So I'll ask you all not to talk about the Granger incident neither. Just in case."

He wondered what he would tell them actually. They surely didn't have to know everything, as he still wasn't sure of the strength of their loyalty to him, but he couldn't do everything alone, even with Damien's help and intellect.

The thing was that he would have wish to take is time, to assure his back, but it was somehow complicated with a potentially murderous Dark Lord in the front, a possibly manipulative and dangerous Dumbledore (even if, as the information came from _Voldemort_ , it was still up to debate) in the back and the Askaban's Damocles's sword above his head.

In the worst case, he would only had to read the betrayal in their heads and to use... more drastic methods of loyalty. But he didn't like the idea. He didn't want them to follow him on fear, that was a very weak way of ruling. And Harry wasn't the type to actually enjoy hurting people, well, not when his purpose was to actually save them. It just made no sens to try to save children if you had to kill them while there were adults.

And the fact was that he actually cared about them. They did fight with him without him asking them to. No, actually, they fought for him.  
He would have to keep an eye on Draco tho. This one would be far more difficult to convince. He'll follow, for Harry, but he had to follow for Harry's view of the world, even if this view was more a general idea right now, and filled in majority with the admirable purpose to stay alive. But Harry had an idea to make them stick together.

The other day already he had seen the Weasley boy looking at him like he wanted to breack his skull on the nearest wall possible.

 _And knowing myself I may actually survive it..._

They went on talking about little things, conveniently avoiding to look at Ananta which was eating a mouse in a very disturbing way, until it was time to go. Harry took the train to avoid questions on why was he using the floo to go in a muggle house... Yeah he would have to be careful about his new witch's reflexes. He didn't know what Dumbledore had one the Dursleys, but the more he thought about it, the more he was incline to go to the house for a bit of cleaning. Just in case, to... officialese his independence. He watched the countryside, wondering how many magical children were forgotten like Damien had been, and tat that simple idea a ball of burning anger started to grow on his stomach.

His dark thought disappeared when his brother ran outside of the manor to greet him. Harry gave him a long hug.  
"I've missed you!" Damien whispered.

Harry froze. Damien had a hoarse voice. He didn't talk to anyone during all this time... Harry felt guilty. Of abandoning the person that needed him the most, of not finding a livable solution, of not finding what Damien's problem was. Guilty that the boy had seen death because of him, and that he would see it again because of him. Guilty that the boy would be trapped between two world probably for the rest of his life while him would be a recognizes wizard.

And yet Damien wasn't jealous. He didn't complain, he didn't even though to complain. He was like that.

"I've missed you too, brother."

Ananta was slithering on bot of their shoulders.

 **"Home! We are home! Ananta is going to play with one-eye and eat a lot and nobody will try to kill the speaker!"**

 **"I think I like your program, little snake."**

 **"I'm not little! I'm big!** "

"Come home, there is a lot of things I need to show you." whispered Damien, leading Harry inside.

Aaaand that's it! What do you think is going to happen next?

see you at the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Harry didn't have the time to put a foot in the manor before Gladis popped and forced him to go to the dining room because he was "far too skinny for a young boy that age, the masters wouldn't have allowed that in their times". Harry protested that it was perfectly normal for him, but there was nothing he could do. He let Ananta down (she was now big enough to go all around the house), free Onyx which was patiently waiting in his cage, let his bags in the hall and obeyed to the little elf.

Gladis could really be scary sometimes, mostly when it was about one of the boy's health.  
He ate in silence under the suspicious glare of Gladis, silently asking for help from his brother which was only smiling innocently.

When he had finished, Gladis popped away, finally letting the two boys alone.

"I think there is a muggleborn in the village." Damien finally said. "A little girl, about seven. I've seen her in a shop while I was looking around."

Harry's smile disappeared immediately.

"Is it bad?"

"Not as much as us. I have no evidence of beating, and I couldn't talk to her, she was with her mother. But I have suspicion. I gave her a note with my number just in case."

"Your number?"

"There is a lot of things we need to talk about indeed." Damien laugh.

Harry gave him a sad smile.

"It will have to wait. I have something to do tomorrow."

Harry didn't let Damien asked him what he had to do. There were things he needed to keep for himself.

"So, you're coming? I want to check if you didn't hide a tent in the library."

"Are you joking? With Gladis looking around? I'm not yet contemplating suicide, brother."  
They had to stop laughing as Gladis popped back to tell them that the master's things were in his bedroom.

Harry took the book ha had copied — including Quirell's, and joined Damien back at the library. Which wasn't a library anymore but a giant and messy- very messy- office. There were books and papers everywhere, and Harry didn't know where ha was allowed walking.

"I said to the elves to clean the room only once a week, they were messing with my work." explained Damien from behind a shelve.

"Ow, they were messing with your work?"

"Wit is the only weapon of the weak."

Harry laugh. It was good to be home.

"And what work caused my library to be exposed to a typhoon?"

Damien came back and gave him an unimpressed look.

"I've actually figured out how wizards administrate their world. And it might be really useful before your little trip."

Harry was impressed. Damien wasn't joking when he said he was working harder than him.

"You're a genius, you know that?"

"Well, I came to the conclusion myself a few years ago but thank you for noticing."

Harry rose an eyebrow to Damien's smirk. That boy would have fit well in Slytherin. Well, no, he was a muggleborn and probably more attracted to books than to people, so he would have been sent to Ravenclaw, but he had potential. Maybe it was a bit thanks to Harry's influence.

Harry sat on a deep blue couch, removed his shoes and waited for Damien to be ready. The one-eye boy took a mountain a papers and throw them on the coffee table, in front of Harry. All of them were strangely organized and well-preserved. The warm light of the afternoon was slipping trough the big windows.

"So, as you've noticed in Hogwarts, wizards seems to have the conviction that each and all of their actions are written in stone, and they do everything for their conviction to be true. You know that in the muggle England, a lot of political regimes and constitutions have been used one after another, sometimes overthrown by revolutions, sometimes by legislation. The same thing happen in every nation."

Harry nodded, He didn't have the slightest idea of how he was supposed to know that as he stopped the muggle school before having actual history classes, nor that he had an idea of how Damien knew that much. But fortunately he was the mind reader so he could pretend and not look like a fool.

"Well, wizards just don't do that. They don't change their system."

"Wait, do you mean..."

"Yup. They have the same constitution and laws that were written centuries, if not millennium ago. All they do is adding bills. Bills and bills, so much that it is actually very hard to find which is what. But the main part of them consist in cutting the two worlds apart, hoping not to be discovered. In order to do that, they have different levels of their political structure: international, continental and national."

Harry wasn't sure if an eleven years old was supposed to be able to do a lecture about a political system. Well, he was the one talking about age...

"All of them are directed by a council. But I didn't have the time to look into that much. But, I've discovered something that is much closer to us: you are not supposed to do magic out of Hogwarts — or any other magical school, after attending to your first class. There is some sort of mark. I don't work with magical incidents of the underage wizards, but I cannot know much more."

"So, apart the fact that wizards's political system must be or very strong or very corrupt, you are telling me that I cannot use my principal weapon out of school for the seven next years?"

"Yes, and no. You can use magic in a magical area- like this manor. But not out of it and not in front of muggles. I you do so, the ministry will be informed and you risk being expelled and your wand broken."

Harry sigh. That was a real complication to his plans.

"So tomorrow..."

"You'll have to do whatever you will do muggle style."

Damien wasn't stupid, he had a very clear idea of what Harry will do the next day. Actually, it was something they should have done much earlier, just in case of the risks. But to do it with a muggle way... it would be ugly. He was glad Harry didn't want him to come. Damien didn't have the cruelty of the other boy. He understood it, in a way, but they both knew he wasn't able to do the same. Damien was actually pretty sure that not a lot of people could do what Harry did. That boy had a very active imagination when he had to avenge.

"Wait, that's why they didn't notice you!"

"Wha-"

"They cannot see magical incidents! There is a few muggleborn at Hogwarts, but not that much. Do you imagine how many kids they miss?"

They stood silent for a very long time, suddenly understanding the immensity of what they were fighting against.

"We have another problem."

Harry's voice was dark. Damien shivered.

"The man that killed my parents- Voldemort. He's not dead. Not far from it, but not dead. And there is worst..."

Damien's heart was starting to dangerously accelerate.

"I think he wants to return. I don't know how. But he will eventually. Do you want to know how I am aware of that. Well, actually, it seems that the man have access to my mind."

Was it fear in his voice? No, it couldn't be.

"He already has one of Hogwarts's teacher. It is actually a question of time. I need you-"

Harry took a deep breath.

"We need to learn everything about him. Who was with and against him. What was his way of ruling, was laws passed under his reign. How did he rise, how did he fall. What does he fear, what does he desire..."

Damien knelled next to him and took his hand. Harry didn't even notice he was scratching it.

"He will want for me to join him."

"I know. But we have time, we still have time. And you know what is the safest place of the Wizarding world? Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't help but to laugh. How if he knew...

They decided to change subject, at least for the day. Too much stress wasn't good for any of them. Harry show Damien the books he had collected, he told him about the people, all that happened and he had forgotten to write. It actually worried Damien. He quickly understood why Harry had laugh at him earlier. Hogwarts wasn't safe at all.

Something else made him shivered: the hate of the muggleborn. It meant that the problem was on both side. It meant that he was trapped. No, it meant that he would have to fight one day or another. Harry knew it, but he wasn't the type of person to actually worried about killing for his life. Reading the concern in his brother's mind, Harry smiled.

"Don't worry about that, I'll take a good care of it."

And it was probably the most terrifying thing he had ever said.

Harry didn't sleep that night. He had to prepare for a really long day, maybe more. He had to prepare for questions, for the police, but it was worth it. He was ready.

He went into Damien's bedroom and gave a small kiss on the other boy's forehead. If what he was about to do didn't work, he was pretty sure they would never see each other again. Tacking care not to wake up anybody, he took his school supplies, changed his clothes for old muggle's ones, and left.

He walked through the countryside, avoiding the village, for a pretty long time before calling a taxi with the cellphone Damien had given him.

The best may to avoid wizard's jail was to act like you has never heard of magic. He wondered how many dark wizards could have dodged Azkaban if they had thought to use a cellphone instead of letters that everyone could read, and which were obvious evidences.

The taxi left him somewhere around Privet Drive, in the deserted area where he had once killed a kid- what was his name again?

Harry walked around the sleepy suburbs and finally reached the Dursleys through the back of the garden. The smell when he entered the house was unbearable, heady. He almost vomited. But he had things to do, and especially to erase the evidences. He walked round the first floor, taking care to seal all the windows, then pulled out a box of matches from the drawer. The Dursleys were supposed to come back from vacation today, by taxi. The taxi passed by just before the house, stopped for a moment. The driver went out, slammed all the doors of his vehicle and left. Perfect.

Harry carefully cut off the band of the match box on which it was supposed to scratch the stick, and stuck it on the floor a few inches from the front door. Then he took one of the matches, scotched it down the door, before unlocking all the locks. He took care to leave some bundles of cigarettes open, which he had bought from the school on the kitchen counter and went out, taking good care to close the back door hermetically behind him.

He returned to the uninhabited area where he had left his belongings and headed for Privet Drive. He rang at the door of the neighbor opposite, who, as he had guessed, was not sleeping at all in spite of the early hour. He began to weep, rubbed his eyes, so that with the dirt he had accumulated from his walk in the country, when the neighbor opened it she found him quite miserable.

"Oh my poor boy!" The old maid exclaimed, raising her hands to heaven as if to ask him to protect Harry.

"What happened to you?"

"I ... I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Figg, but I did not know where to go ..." Harry whispered sobbing, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Oh but that's nothing my boy, come in, come in, you're going to tell me all that."  
Harry entered the little house. She resembled the one he had just left, except the fact that there were cats; A lot of cats. Who looked too clever.

He sat down on the sofa covered with place mats, wiping his eyes, leaving his affairs in the entrance as if they did not matter to him. Miss Figg came back from the kitchen with a glass of milk and sat down in front of him.

"I did not want to go back ..." Harry sobbed as he shed big tears. "You know, they ... they hurt me, so when I came back from school I did not want to go back ... Since Dudley was sick ..."

His voice had gone up in the Acute to the point of almost breaking.

"Oh, I see, my poor child!"

The poor woman looked really horrified, and Harry made sure she believed everything he said.

"I spent the night outside, but I did not know where to go ... so ... so I came here ..."

He clasped his hands on his knees as if every word cost him a lot. He had understood for a very long time that the woman was a squib.

"Oh, yes, I guess Dumbledore told you to come see me if you had a problem, you did well, boy, you did well."

Harry froze. He did not expect that. He nodded pitifully.

"You think I can stay here for the holidays? Just two weeks I would work to pay my rent, I would help you, you know, my teachers say I am very good at some things!" The boy's voice was full of hope and the old lady was really saddened.

"I'm sorry Harry, but you have to go back. Dumbledore's orders are very clear, you have to stay with the Dursleys ..."

Oh. So it was like that. The old woman worked for the old fool, who was the person who had sent him to his aunt, and who had given precise orders not to leave. He knew. Dumbledore knew what the Dursleys had done to Harry. Old Figg was his spy, and she knew. Harry stuck his fingernails in the palm of his hand until he blew himself into the old skin and made him eat his eyes before returning to Hogwarts to make a surprise at the Headmaster. He used all his concentration to enclose his magic deep within himself.

Fortunately, his movement was taken for a gesture of dejection, and the old woman resumed in a compassionate tone: "But you can stay here for a moment if you want ..."

Harry kept his eyes down, perfectly aware that they had to shine because of all the magic that was breaking through him, and shook his head. The more time he stayed here ...

"Can you come with me when I go back? I did not come back last night, and I'm afraid that ..." He did not finish his sentence.

"Oh yeah, sure, Harry, I'll talk to your aunt and all will be arranged, do not worry, they'll never hurt you again, believe me."

She did not know how right she was. Irony was the only reason Harry did not throw himself on her when she added:

"When they know that Dumbledore is ordering them to stop, they will not do anything to you anymore, you're under his protection, you know, you're lucky, he's a powerful man, and believe me, even those muggles know And I think that's the only reason they've gotten you under their roof."

Harry could not help but shout.

"Oh I'm sorry Harry, I should not have said that! You know, I'm sure that deep down they love you, they're just ... well they're just themselves."

In saying this she had put her hand on Harry's shoulder. A spade of pain pierced his arm, as if all his nerves were on fire. His body remembered everything that had touched his shoulder before this pockmarked hand. He was glad that the old lady had returned to the kitchen, because he was trembling so much he could not make a move. Images passed behind her closed eyelids. Images he wanted to forget. For a moment he thought he saw Vernon in the corner of the room. His ears were buzzing and he began to see black spots in front of his eyes. His teeth squeaked. The vase that lay on the chimney imploded.

"I'm sorry Miss Figg!"

Harry was crying in pain, but the old woman thought it was a child's grief. It was normal at this age and under such difficult conditions to have violent emotions. She did not notice how the light had fallen around them.

"Oh, it's nothing, a little magic incident of nothing at all, and then this vase was ugly anyway."

She bent down to pick up the pieces.

If Harry had intended to save the old woman, he now regretted not being able to make her suffer more. He knew it was not her fault, but basically she was like Petunia. She looked passively. With the blessing of Dumbledore.

The old woman gave him biscuits and began to speak. Harry was surprised that she could remain as discreet as a spy with such a flow of words.

"After the attack on your poor parents — Lilly and James, formidable people, really, and such a beautiful couple, Dumbledore brought you here for you to be protected. We were not yet sure of the number of black magicians Dumbledore, and he and the order of the Phoenix, of which I am one of the parties-of which I belonged at the time, Have done everything so that no wizard can ever find you."

 _Except looking in my head..._

Harry had tucked in behind an attentive listening mask. He had no reason to be angry. There was nothing to gain from being angry with the dead. At least that was what he repeated tirelessly.  
Somewhere in the world he knew a certain Dark Lord who must have had a headache.

When they left the little house, two hours later, one would have thought that the small town of Privet Drive was living an eclipse. The light was yellowish, crushing. Tightening her little cardigan around her, Miss Figg knocked at the door of the Dursleys. Harry stayed on the level of the wooden fence that surrounded the garden, supposedly because he was afraid. If Miss Figg had turned around before opening the door, she could have seen him smile.

A smile full of teeth.

"Sorry" He whispered before being thrown back by the blast of the explosion. When his head hit the ground, he lost consciousness.

The ground was really hard, but Harry decided he would get up later. He had not planned to be carried away at this point by the explosion (it wasn't like he was an expert in explosions). He had bruises everywhere and the skin of his arms was scratched to the point of blood. Nothing unbearable, and there was nothing broken.

What relieved him, he had not yet thought about how to avoid hospital and health examinations. He had seen Madame Pomfray practicing a fate which revealed the whole medical history of a person, and only to this idea he shuddered. He wondered who wizards or muggles would come first. It was understood that they were the least incompetent because it was almost certain that he had evaded at least ten minutes and that all the neighbors observed the explosion and at a safe distance of five or six feet.

He focused on the crackling of the burning house. It was really a beautiful sound, that of the past that goes away.

Suddenly he heard noises of aspiration, and several men and women in wizards's robes, slightly different from the one he had seen before, appeared all around the house.

Aurors.

Harry raised his arm in the air.

"Hey, I think we need help here."

He nearly laughed when one of the aurors uttered a little shriek when he caught sight of him and rushed to his side. Harry sat down but decided that it was not yet time to get up totally, in view of the tremors that traveled his legs. He looked shocked, especially with the soot marks due to the explosion and his reddened eyes thanks to the little episode in Miss Figg. He smiled indistinctly thinking that his hair should not be worse than usual.

"I ... I ..."

"Calm down, do not force yourself to speak, I have to ask you a few things, you can shake your head to answer.

Quirell would have been proud of his pastures.

Harry nodded his head, then raised his arms to his face as if he were discovering the wound (which actually burned like all the fires of hell). The auror nodded with a concerned air, and then he noticed the open door of Mademoiselle Figg's house.

"You can walk ?"

Harry nodded and yelled and began to stand up by clinging to the arm of the auror (both not to fall and not to give the poor man a chance to touch him while trying to support him). They walked slowly to Mademoiselle Figg's house and once they got there, Harry dropped onto the sofa.

"Can you talk?" The Auror was now whispering a spell to cure Harry's arms. When he had finished, Harry snatched him away before he had time to see the other marks, and hid them under the plaid in which he had snuggled.

"Yes sir." Said Harry, his voice still uncertain because of the backlash of the explosion.

"We were warned because a sorcerer was wounded, and since you have a wand in your pocket, I conclude that it is you. What is your name?"

"Harry Potter."

The auror paled immediately and rushed out. Harry heard him whisper furiously with someone else, before coming back, a false air of calm on his face.

"Well, we'll wait here for other people to come, it's useless to force you to tell it several times."

Harry thought he liked that auror.

"This house, you know who lives here?"

"Miss-Miss Figg. She's ..." Harry lowered his head and did not finish his sentence.

"It's okay, do not worry, you'll be able to explain everything later." "Rest yourself until the competent authorities arrive."

Harry thought that eventually the ministry might not be incompetent in all areas.

A few minutes later, Dumbledore arrived at Mademoiselle Figg's house. He was calm, as usual, so much so that if Harry had not seen the worry in his blue-baby eyes, he might have thought the old man had come to make cookies. Dumbledore sat in front of him with eagerness, surrounded by two aurors, and plopped his gaze into that of Harry. Luckily the boy had already erected walls around his thoughts, pushing the pictures of the day ahead for the teacher to see. Well, not all day, of course, just enough that he could determine that Harry was not lying. And, quite ironically, Harry did not intend to lie. The auror on the teacher's left placed a parchment on the coffee table, then a pen-pen, which rose up by itself and began to write, while he said:

"Written report, explosion at 4 Privet Drive, testimony of Harry Potter."

This is an object that could be useful!

"Now, Harry, tell us what happened." Dumbledore's voice was actually comforting, and if Harry didn't have the urge to kill him on the spot, he would have felt better. But as Harry couldn't decently try to look into the headmaster's mind, he didn't know what was what. The man send him to hell, and then looked concern? Or, he is a much better liar than what Harry though first, and it wasn't good news.

He told him. He did not want to go back to the Dursleys for fear of their reaction after he went to a school of witchcraft and slept outside. The next day, not knowing what to do, he went to see Figg, who had always been kind to him. The old woman had offered to talk to Petunia for him, to spare him trouble. She had opened the door and everything had exploded. When he awoke, the aurors were there and the house was on fire.

The quill was scratching the paper all along.

"I ... how did it happen, Professor?"

Dumbledore looked at him with compassion, and Harry thought that he was becoming more and more gifted at controlling himself.

Dumbledore nodded softly.

"We will know it soon, don't worry m'boy. It will be fine. But first we have to find a place you to rest."

"I have a manor, Sir. The Potter Manor. I've been there once or twice, because the goblin at Gringotts told me that it existed. I could just move in..."

Dumbledore gave him a surprised look but said nothing.

Harry looked at the ground.

"Is... did anyone... survived?" Harry whispered, looking lost.

The adults looked at each other. Then Dumbledore said with a compassionate air.

"No, Harry ..."

The boy shrieked and collapsed into tears, or rather put his hands in front of his face so that no one noticed that he had a craving to laugh. Somehow, he was a little sorry for Miss Figg, who had only followed the orders of the person she thought was the wisest and most powerful wizard in the world, but he had not expected it to be so easy. He felt the full look of the aurors on his neck. All were aware that the last remains of his family had just taken off, and they remained silent. No one dared to approach the boy. And one thought occupied all minds.

He had survived. Once again.

They asked no questions when Dumbledore motioned them out.

"Do you want me to accompany you to the manor?"

Although Dumbled's idea of a foot in his home made him almost want to vomit, Harry agreed. He asked to go to the bathroom before. He rinsed his face and pulled out his cell phone.

Muggle technology could be really useful sometimes.

Everything went according to plan. There was no sign of life in the manor except Gladis came to greet them, and Harry noticed that Damien had taken the trouble to place a small layer of dust on most of the furniture. The boy definitely had a sense of detail. Dumbledore gave him a speech about how he would never be alone and could come to him to ask for help, or even if he needed to talk.

Harry no longer had any confidence in the man, but he had to admit that the proposal was sincere. He could see him on the man's face, and even if the headmaster was a very good liar, which Harry did not doubt for a single second, he could not imagine that Dumbledore would not tell the truth at that moment. Harry hated that, but the old man was really concerned about Harry's health. The boy did not understand anything of the contradictory information in the militia, and he was sure of one thing: he was missing something.

He wondered if he should talk to Voldemort about the professor, but decided not to. He could not make such an important decision without having all the ins and outs. And he really was not sure if he'd prefer Dumbledore to Voldemort. At least the Dark Lord was rather clear in his intentions.

After a while, Dumbledore left, explaining to Harry that a man from the ministry would come to see him in the next few days to formalize his statement and give him information about the facts and what would happen next. Harry thanked him effusively, full of gratitude eyes.

Once Dumbledore came out and disappeared, Damien rushed out of his hiding place, behind the false wall of the hall, and asked Harry a thousand questions.

Harry raised his hand, asking for a little air. Taking pity, he authorized Gladis to clean the dust that had been scattered everywhere, and crashed into one of the sofas in the drawing-room.

Damien was both horrified and impressed by the plan Harry had put in place. It was ingenious, and on many levels. Not only had he erased all the evidence, got rid of an embarrassing witness and formalized his presence and control over the manor in front of the Dumbledore and the ministry, but he had also succeeded in adding a new page to his survivor's legend. It was pure genius.

And all of that without a real lie. Slytherin would have been proud of him.

Harry asked for a hot chocolate and spent the rest of the day lying on the sofa. He was exhausted both emotionally and physically, but above all relieved. The fear of prison was gone.

He finally fell asleep on the sofa, his snake was no longer so small on his legs. Damien covered him with a blanket and decided to watch him. Whatever may be able to make his brother, Damien knew that killing someone left marks, and Harry was clearly not the kind of person to fall asleep on a couch without realizing it, There was no one to surprise his dreams.

Damien supposed it was an old reflex of the brutal awakenings his family had to make him undergo. Yet Harry looked peaceful. Her black hair cascaded on her white forehead, and the delicate features of her face no longer had the aft taste of falsehood and grief. When he closed his eyes, his eyes so terrifying and fascinating, one could only see the child. Damien suddenly realized all the things that weighed on such young shoulders. He resented the world for that, but not in the manner of his brother, no, rather as a sort of resigned fatality. Damien was not the kind of person to fight, but he had the feeling that this would change soon.

As soon as he woke, Harry felt dirty. He realizes that he had not taken the time to take a shower after he had returned from Hogwarts. Damien had fallen asleep in the chair in front of him. Being careful not to wake him, Harry went upstairs to wash, followed by Ananta. The snake wound on the bed.

He let the water run over his face for a long time. His muscles relaxed little by little. The water swept away the blood and grime and left his skin white and clean. Before getting dressed, Harry looked at himself in the mirror for a moment.

It was hard, but he forced himself to do it regularly. He knew that few people could support the sight of his body covered with scars. Some of his bones had badly soldered and deformed limbs, his chest and his back. His thinness did not seem to want to disappear and made his bones appear even more. They were rolling under his skin. His shoulders had marks of pinkish burning, and he was almost certain to be able to perceive the blackish mark of his heart in the middle of his thoracic cage, beneath the translucent skin.

Disgusting.

He sighed and dressed. He put on a pair of dark green trousers that were perfectly cut, a black top, and a mouse gray with silver scrolls reaching to his knees and the collar rising to his neck, so that all his scars were hidden. He arranged his hair, now a little over his shoulders, put on a pair of black boots and went down to the library.

"Gladis!"

The little elf appeared.

"An auror will come today, or tomorrow I do not really know ... I have business to settle with him ... If he rings at the door, I want you to take him here and send another elf To come to me before he enters the library, which is very important, and lead him as if he were the most distinguished guest you have ever received. Make him enter the room and do not leave until I tell you so."

"Yes, Master Potter."

And Gladis disappeared.

Harry pulled out his wand and began to put away the books and parchments they had left on the various tables, taking care to hide the plans of the ministry that Damien had to find while he was out the day before. Harry said he was lucky that one of his grandparents worked at the ministry, especially since he appeared to be working at the Muggle sections and had duplicated many Reports to bring him home.

Of course, the information was a bit dated, but that just might give it a view of a longer therm. He went to work. He took out all the books he had bought but had not had time to read about the first war. He had to understand the stakes in knowing where to place himself, since the dead of this war seemed resolutely wanting to return to life. He was in the process of recopying in one of his reports the names of the Death Eaters arrested after Voldemort's fall, as well as the sentence that had fallen to them when one of the little elves dedicated to the household appeared and told him that the guest had just entered the field. Harry dismissed it with a wave of his hand before putting away his work and opening a book of herbology before him.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in!" He said, accentuating the youth of his voice.

Gladis came in, followed by a thirty-year-old woman, with blond hair pulled back. She looked nervous and relaxed immediately when she saw Harry. He was so small! Harry stood up, said hello to him with all the politeness of the world, his hands deliberately trembling, and motioned him to sit on the couch as he sat elegantly in the matching chair, right in front of her. He waited a few seconds with an embarrassed air, then said:

"Thanks Gladis, you can leave." The Auror turned, surprised, as the elf disappeared.

"I'm sorry for that. She's a little overprotective since I came here yesterday. Just look at the clothes she bought me!" Saying that, he rose his arm dramatically under the woman's appreciative look.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter. To be in charge of an estate so young his very difficult, especially in such... dramatic situation. But I'm sure you will have time to adapt."

Harry nodded with a sad smile.

"I am here to explain what we have found, what will happen and to answer your questions." Replied the Auror, in a gentle voice. "First, about the incident."

Harry pinched his lips and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Apparently your family had taken advantage of your absence to go on holiday some time, they came back one day before you technically the day you should have gone home, we found a lot of gas. It was left open by accident, and one of the members of the family smoked, he lighted his lighter, causing the explosion. Do you have any information that could confirm this hypothesis?" Harry took his head in his hands. "Dudley had started smoking a little before I left for Hogwarts ..."

"Dudley was your cousin, right?"

He agreed. "I know that it must be hard to talk about this kind of thing, but we need all the information, and given what we have, the investigation will be closed by the end of the week, it is not necessary to aggravate your grief for what it all means as an accident. We will now talk about what will happen next. First of all, your business will be sent to you as soon as the investigation Will be closed, so you will receive them by Friday."

The green-eye boy looked relieved, making the woman smile.

"Because you are still a minor, you are supposed to be placed under the guarding of a third party until your 17 years. However, in view of your capacities, and because you are the last member of your family, Albus Dumbledore insisted so that we let you make the decision. You can thus ask to be adopted by a family of wizards, or then to take your independence, under the condition of a regular visit of an adult when you will be outside the school."

Harry took time to think.

"I have two questions: is the adoption whole, I mean there that I would be legally the son in the family, and in both cases who would be concerned to take care of me?"

" I understand. Let me see." She opened the small file which she had taken with her.

"If you choose adoption, It will only be effective adoption, you will not take the name of the family. It's written here that the Malfoys have already proposed themselves, along with the Longbottoms. On the other hand, if you choose partial independence, you can choose any willing adult to look over you. Dumbledore would be the most obvious choice, of course, but some other people may presents themselves."

"Do I have to choose now?"

"No, of course no. We know it is a very hard decision to make. You have two months. During this time, different people will come to check after you during the holidays, and then there will be no problem as you will be in school."

Harry nodded. That was a choice he had to look after very carefully.

"I believe I have said everything. Do you have any question?" Harry put a mask of pure sorrow on his face.

"Did... did they suffer?"

He could almost physically feel the woman's compassion.

"No. They didn't have the time..."

Harry nodded. He himself accompanied the woman to the gate, whence she apparted, and returned to the library.

"Gladis!"

"Yes Master Potter?"

"Where is Damien?"

"He is sleeping in the armchair, Master Potter. Do you want Gladis to wake him up?"

"No, non, thank you. Let him sleep. Just tell me when he wakes up."

"Yes, Master Potter." Alone again, Harry went back to work, Ananta slowly slithering on the table. He couldn't wait to see today's newspapers.


	7. Chapter 6

A new chapter!

I wanted to thanks Millie for the review. Don't worry, I detail mad too, and if something looks odd, there is a reason (you will find some of your answers in this chapter tho). Just to say that I do almost everything here on purpose, but you'll have to wait for the answers mouahahaha (sorry). Anyway, thanks you again, your interest in the story really cheered me up! (and I must confess Damien is one of my favourite caracter so far too).

Hope you will all enjoy! good reading!

Chapitre 6:

When Quirell opened the Daily Prophet, he spilled his coffee. He just couldn't believe it. Harry Potter was in the front page.

 _ **The-Boy-Who-Lived SURVIVED AGAIN!**_

 _ **A tragic incident- what faith for the Wizarding world's hero?**_

 _ **Last night your faithful reporter was informed of a tragic accident. It is well-known since his brilliant entry at Hogwarts that Hary Potter have been living with the muggle's side of his family. It appears that these muggles weren't as wizard-friendly but we don't have much more information about his life style in the muggle world, due to the complete secrecy around The-Boy-Who-Lived (but don't worry me dears! Rita is on the case)**_  
 _ **The family was in holidays and came back the day of the incident. The boy, trying to go home, had to ask the help of one of his keepers- Miss Figg (squib), who was, as Albus Dumbledore assured us, a person who could be trusted.**_  
 _ **The ministry's investigation point out that the family had let a toxic gas slip through, causing an accidental explosion that killed the three muggles and Miss Figg, which was at the door.**_  
 _ **Harry Potter, even injured, took the time to answer to the auror's questions on the spot, under the guard of Dumbledore, before heading to his new home, the Potter Manor (location unknown).**_  
 _ **Sources add that he tried to return in the burning house to save his family from the flames but was nearly stopped by two aurors.**_

 _ **BUT A QUESTION REMAIN: Who is going to look after Harry Potter?  
As The-Boy-Who-Lived is only eleven years-old, he must have a guardian, or ask for a formal adoption.  
Some of the most powerful wizards and pureblood families are already applying at the ministry!**_

 _ **The back story of Harry Potter, P6.**_  
 _ **Who is going to adopt Harry Potter? P8.**_  
 _ **What we know about the Boy today P 10.**_

Everything else was about how Harry Potter was not only a visibly gifted student — according to his teachers — but also esteemed by his comrades, and expected to stand firm by the biggest families. This not to mention the rumors about the beauty of the boy, probably inherited from his parents (see photo), which would make him the most popular party of his generation.

The whole thing was marked with anecdotes on how Harry Potter had already illustrated himself by saving two of his comrades, the pureblood Neville Longbottom, as well as a Gryffindor whose name is unknown (rumor said muggleborn), the Boy Having at that moment killed a Troll.

Quirell was well aware of the rumors that had gone on Potter as soon as he arrived, especially at the Gryffondor. He did not know to what extent this had just happened (the boy was only _eleven_!) But in any case he had managed to make everyone think he was a nice Gryffondor. While staying in Slytherin. While giving enough clues for pure-blooded families not to feel threatened. And now was officially placed under the protection of Dumbledore, which meant that he was more or less untouchable at school, and probably amnestied in the ministry.

Quirell was not a Machiavellian man, he certainly did not have the talent of his Master for that kind of thing, but he knew how to recognize a cog.  
Harry Potter had just started the new area of The-Boy-Who-Lived.

The professor was almost certain that his master would try to kill Potter at the first opportunity. First of all, pure vengeance, then because the boy was too powerful (or at least had the potential), and then ... Quirell knew there was something else. But what he had seen the day when the boy had knocked the Troll ... Although he hid this thought from the depths of his mind, it remained.

A new Lord had just appeared, and had begun to work very early.

Harry had never heard Damien swear so much. When he had woken up, he had told him about the various choices offered to them by the ministry. Of course, he expected Damien to be unhappy _(A babysitter in my house!_ ) But not that much.

Obviously, he understood. This meant introducing a stranger, with more or less known intentions, and restricting Damien's freedom in the manor. The boy already had so much work to not to have an idiot hanging around and offering him hot chocolates! None of them had ever needed a relative, on the contrary, and that was the very purpose of their maneuver.

And now it was necessary to decide who, keeping in mind absolutely all the information on the different factions of the world of sorcerers.  
It was on hearing him grumble about the dangers of an obligation as stupid as Harry had an idea.

"I'm going to send a letter to Dumbledore, asking him to come."

Damien stopped and looked at him like he was completely mad.

"Wait before shouting, I have a very good reason to do that. I don't know what he wants, but I know that he wants me under his control. He is too smart to do things without a reason. He couldn't trap me at the Dursleys without a very good one, as he probably had to go against a lot of people when he did that. He is powerful, yes, but he still has to justify some of his actions. Which means that I need to get closer to him, because without that I will never find out what the hell is happening. This man can do whatever he wants to me..."

The pain in Harry's voice was obvious. He hated Dumbledore for what he did to him, he hated the man for not having explanation, he hated the man for having let him in a situation where he had to kill to survive. But he had to use his brain and not to let his personal feelings take control. This could be far more important than his own life, it could touch Damien's too.

It was funny how his attachment to the other boy had grown. At first, the brother thing was more not to feel alone. They needed to be a family, but he had soon understood that he would have turn very badly if it wasn't for his brother. Because Damien was the proof that they were attacked on both sides, muggles and wizards, and that they had to defend themselves against all of them. And because he was the living proof that you could remain good, even in a situation like this.

Now they were a real family.

And Damien was sicker and sicker. Harry could see his brother's hand shaking, the thing exploding around. He acted like he didn't notice, but it was really getting worse, and with all that was happening, he didn't know how in Merlin's sake he could have the time to become a trained healer before...

He had contemplated the idea of asking help from the wizards. To fetch a healer, to send Damien in a hospital, but he couldn't do that. It would mean that hey would search for Damien's family. And Harry was pretty sure that what he had done to Damien's father could be detected. It would be the end of him. But he would do it, if there were no others choices. Actually, now he knew he won't hesitate when the time will come. Harry didn't have a lot of morality, he wasn't a good person, and he was well aware of that. Actually, he was pretty sure that anyone who would know him would treat him like a monster — muggles and wizards. But Damien didn't. And for that, Harry owned him. He had to do everything to put Damien into safety, even if it meant inviting Dumbledore home.

He took a quill and a parchment, and started writing, Damien looking over his shoulder.

 _To Albus Dumbledore,_

 _Sir,_

 _The other day you said to me that I could ask your help if I needed anything. I am sorry to disturb you again as I know you must have a very busy schedule, but I think I need to talk with you about the choice the ministry gave me. I don't know who else to ask._  
 _Could you come at the Potter manor tomorrow?_

 _Harry Potter._

Harry didn't know what to add, so he attached the paper on Onyx's paw and send the bird away.  
They heard a phone ring, and Damien reached to his bedroom. Harry found him sitting back on the hall's stairs (clearly the most beautiful spot of the house, he had to admit), gently talking to someone. Damien made sign for his brother to sit and said goodbye.

" It was that little girl. I was right, she is a witch. Her name is Mia Muroon."

Harry gave him a bright smile.

"So what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know. I think we should meet her. Explain her what is going on, check the situation. Actually, she told me she was playing in the forest downhill right now..."

Harry didn't let him the time to finish, ran upstairs to change. He choose some muggle clothes he had asked Gladis to buy: a shirt, a pair of blue jeans and a green scarf, as he really couldn't show his neck.

They waved goodbye to a desperate Gladis and went out. The weather was nice and the temperature was surprisingly sweet for the season. The two boys decanted the hill down to the village. Harry had never taken the time to visit it, but he had to agree that it was pretty picturesque. There were a hundred or so houses, some uninhabited and covered with ivy. They turned left from the main street to the forest. Damien explained that it was one of the favorite playgrounds of the children of the village (he had seen about twenty of them), since it was quite small and safe. They actually passed a few cabins in the trees made of all sorts of things, before hearing a little voice call them.

She was about 9, with big brown eyes and chocolate skin.

The ebony hair of the little girl was tied in tight braids that descended to her hips. She wore a puffy brown skirt and an orange t-shirt. She was adorable with her little nose turned up and her freckles.

"Hello Mia!" Said Damien.

Harry was flabbergasted. Damien's face had completely changed. He looked relaxed, and a cheerful smile had stretched his lips. He leaned forward to get up to the child and Harry realized how great he was for his age. He held out his hand and the little girl squeezed it with a falsely serious pout.

Then she turned her heels and sat on a slightly overhanging roots.

"Mia, this is Harry, my brother, I told him you could do incredible things and he asked me to see you."

The little girl raised her chin to Harry as if she were judging whether he was worthy of her magic tricks.

Harry had great difficulty not to laugh, but kept a dramatically serious expression, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

Then, judging her trustworthy, she grabbed a brown leaf that trailed on the floor and threw it into the air. The leaf left at full speed towards the sky before coming back crashing like a small meteorite on the ground.

Harry nodded.

"Damien explained to you why you could do that?" He asked.

"He told me I was not the only one." Replied Mia curiously.

"Oh, you're not the only one, little one." whispered Damien. "You see, Harry is like you. He's a wizard."

"A wizard? For real?"

"Yes!" Replied Harry, who this time burst out laughing at the large eyes that threw Mia at him.

"And you can do things too? Can you show me?"

"Yes, and no, you see, there are very special and very important rules, and we must not do magic in the presence of people who can not do it. The school of sorcerers, we have no right to do it outside of home."

"That's to avoid incidents." Damien added with a wink. "It would be a shame to find people changed to ducks because they asked a certain little girl to clean her room, don't you think?"

The little girl held her hands against her mouth and a small laugh escaped her. "Now I want you to listen to me carefully." Said Damien suddenly authoritarian, squatting beside her.

"There are a few things we should tell you: First, the rule given to you by Harry earlier is the most important one: you have the right to transgress it only if you are with a wizard or if your life is in danger, am I clear?"

She nodded quietly.

"Then, you have my number. If anything happens to you, if you have a question, if you need help, you can call me night and day. I live in the manor at the top of the hill, you can come whenever you want to read magic books or ask for things, but on two conditions: first, you always have to call or send a message before. Then you do not have to talk to anyone about what you're learning here, or just that you're coming in. Tries to be discreet about it. Good, now: does your parents or your friends know what you can do ? "

She looked at him with a mixture of admiration and fear. He was decidedly very gifted with the children. She nodded.

"Who?"

"My mom..."

Damien glanced at Harry. He felt his brother stiffen immediately.

"And how does she react?"

"I do not know she does not tell me about it ... I do not think she knows what's going on."

"It's very understandable. You do not have to feel bad, it happens to a lot of people."

She rose from her root, obviously wishing to change the subject.

"Would you like to play with me?"

They came home just in time for the tea (Damien was very exigent when it was about tea, and actually Harry was pretty sure he will never be able to send his brother into battle for he would sit and the ground and drink his tea at 4pm exactly).

They sat in the living room. It was incredible how the place could be warming, with the bay window giving on the garden full of golden and red leaves. An owl came and Harry quickly detached the parchment from its paw.

He read it out loud:

"Harry, Don't worry Harry, I shall come tomorrow, by 10 am. Could you ask your elf for a lemon pie? Albus Dumbledore."

"Well he doesn't embarrass himself with too much wording!"

" Wait to hear him talk." Harry gave him a look.

"And what is this thing with lemon pie? I mean you call him to talk about your dead family and your future, and he asks for a lemon pie?"

"I dunno man, he is the wisest and most powerful wizard in the world, therefore no one should dare ask questions on lemon pie." Replied Harry taking a horrified look.

"Oh yeah, I don't want to be in trouble with the law!" Said Damien on the same tone, rising his arms in the air. They both chuckled.

"By the way, I like that kind you found."

"Mia? Yes, she is a nice's one."

"Not the most brilliant, obviously, but she does have a hell of a temper and a bravery to fit with it."

"Yeah, I've seen her fight, and I can tell you that I don't want to be against her alone." "Well brother I'm sorry to say that but if it happens, I wouldn't bet on you."

"I take no offense, I'm perfectly aware of my limitations." Damien answered with a false aristocratic tone.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's not like you had a choice!"

They sat silently, sipping their tea. They liked to be just in the same room, in silence. It gave them the impression that the world wasn't falling apart outside their home. It was peaceful. They watched the leaves fall behind the window, Harry laying on the couch, Damien sitting in his usual armchair (Harry was pretty sure that he would be in deep trouble if he dared sat in this one). They had tried video-games, but it just wasn't their thing. So they just sat quietly, like the time had stopped.

Damien's breath began to accelerate. At first, Harry did not notice it, but the other boy finally put a hand against his chest, dropping his cup on the floor. Harry jumped up to catch him, who collapsed into a ball and managed to avoid hitting the ground. He was burning and sweaty, his hands clenched against each other, his single eye staring at the floor with a panicked air. Harry sat down and took him in his arms, trying to keep himself calm. Black veins ran along his brother's arms, and a kind of thick, black smoke covered the walls, as if they were seeping from the petrol. Harry struggled to resist the waves of magic that pushed him away as well as everything around him. He clutched at his brother, murmuring all he could to reassure him.

After several minutes, the crisis passed, but they remained in this position for much longer. Harry gently caressed his back and rocked him, until his tears dried up and he fell asleep. Harry wanted to scream. His thoracic cage was comprised by the fear and pain of having to have the other boy against his broken chest. But he restrained himself. Gladis looked at them from the doorway, completely panicked. Harry motioned for her to approach.

"Teleport us to his room, if possible on his bed." He ordered in a breath.

She obeyed immediately. Harry undertook to remove his brother's shoes, his sweater, and went to get a towel soaked in cold water to lower his temperature. The boy was already less pale, and his features were no longer clenched. Harry picked up a book from the library, and then went up. He watched over his brother all night. When dawn rose, Harry came out of the room, his legs falgating.

He took a shower, and called Gladis to help him to bandage his bluish sides. He dressed, ordered that Damien should not be allowed to leave his room until he was back, and returned to the library. He began to do his homework, trying at all costs to forget what had just happened. He did not see the hour pass and jumped when Gladis popped beside him to announce that Dumbledore had arrived. He asked to be let in, but the man was already opening the door of the library with a serene air.

Harry ticked but preferred not to point out to the headmaster how rude it was to enter the people's house without being properly invited. After all the most powerful wizard in the world stood before him, and man had to allow himself some... liberties in his behavior.

"Headmaster!" exclaimed Harry, rising on his feet.

"It's OK, Harry, sit, sit." Said the headmaster in a calming tone. Then he looked around with his sparkling eyes, sitting himself on the chair in front of Harry. "You're studious, arn't you?" he said pointing at the homework plasted on the table.

Harry sit back on his chair. "It helps me to stop thinking." Dumbledore crossed his hands on his stomach and looked at the boy with comprehension.

"I see. Now, what did you want to talk about?"

"Its just that... the ministry... well I guess you know what they asked me. Its such a difficult choice! I mean I don't know anybody..." Dumbledore stood silent, visibly waiting for Harry to continue. "I did think about asking you, I mean you already are my keeper, but... it wouldn't be right... I mean at school. But you are the only person I thought about and I don't know who else I may choose!" Dumbledore smiled.

"I'm touch, Harry, I am. It means a lot to me that you trusted me enough to choose me, but you are right, it cannot happen. I know it is hard for you. I'm really sorry you have to go through all of that, but I think it is better than just imposing you someone." Harry nodded vividly. His emotions towards the man had cool down a bit. Mostly because if someone was able to things without manicheism, it was Harry. And the boy was sure that there was a reason, it had to be. And Harry wanted to know it. Dumbledore rose and eyebrow.

"I know that the Malfoys have asked for your custody..."

"Yeah, the ministry's woman told me. I like Draco as a friend but..." Harry stopped a moment. He never thought he could actually open his mind to Albus Dumbledore, even for a bit. Well, the man certainly had a way with these things. And he looked so much like a grandfather that it was actually hard not to.

"I don't want to erase my mother's name for them." He decided.

Dumbledore looked at him at first with surprise, then Harry saw pride slip into his eyes.

"It's perfectly understandable Harry. The Malfoys are perhaps good people as people but they are not known to be the most tolerant ..." the headmaster replied with a mocking smile. "And what do you think of Longbottom?"

"I do not know them..." Dumbledore gravely approved.

"Harry, you still have time, take all the time to think about it, do not hurry yourself and do not force yourself, you must still be shocked by what happened, I will always be there to advise you If you need it, things will be obvious in time, my boy. "

It wasn't helping.

"Professor." Said Harry. 'I wanted to ask you ... about the accident. I asked the lady in the department, but I do not think she was honest. I need to know everything that happened ... " As he spoke, Gladis approached a lemon pie that she had placed on the table, as well as two cups of tea. Harry thanked her before turning his attention to Dumbledore.

"You thought about it!" The old mage rejoices, immediately taking a bite.

It was actually funny to see this old man acting like a child. Then he resumed a serious air.

"Well, as we've already told you, it was an accident. The Dursleys had gone on vaccinations during your absence, we found tickets and other traces of their passage, and the water and electricity were They had to cook something and left their gas on. "

Dumbledore stopped and looked at Harry, how he would decide if he thought it worthy or not to hear the rest.

"Harry my boy, there were wards around the house to protect you, I think their presence prevented the gas from breaking up as quickly as it should have. When your cousin wanted to light his cigarettes, the house exploded, and fortunately the wards contained the fire and the debris in a restricted area and no other was touched, I'm really sorry my boy."

Harry lowered his head. He had been an idiot not to think of wards, but obviously they had been useful to him. Little by little he was conscious of the risk he had taken to leave the Dursleys in the house for so long. But if there were wards, shouldn't they had alerted Dumbledore that he wasn't home about three weeks before going to Hogwarts? If they did why the headmaster didn't check nor reacted? Or at least ask questions? But suddenly he understood why, he had read it in Quirell's book. Killing someone changed people. But it also changed their magical prints. Dumbledore detected that someone had left the house probably, but not Harry.

"Will they have a grave?" He asked finally once again from the rush of adrenaline. Dumbledore looked pained, and detached every word of his words, as if to make them less painful.

"Yes, Harry my boy but ... with the explosion, we'll have to wait."

"Wait for what?" Harry felt light.

"Well, their bodies ... let's say we have not found everything yet."

Harry looked shocked. "I see." Harry said to himself that he had the gift of mixing ingenuity and luck.

"Harry, there's something I wanted to give you, even though I did not have the opportunity to do so." Resumed the headmaster, handing Harry a little pacquet.

The boy unpacked it and found a picture frame. A red-haired woman with magnificent green eyes lovingly held the hand of a man whom Harry recognized at once. He did not resemble his father in spite of what people could say, but he could not deny his filiation. The two people in the photo were puckering the hand in his direction with a big smile. They looked happy. Harry felt his heart tighten. He was not sad about their death, he had not known them enough for that. But in this picture, they looked so happy ...

"Thank you Professor, this is the first time I see them ..."

He was sincere. He knew pertinently that it had to be an attempt to manipulate him in god knows what plan, but he could not help but be grateful. Dumbledore stood up.

"Well, my boy, I have a lot of things to do, and I'm gonna have to leave. Goodbye, Harry."

And on these words he left, leaving Harry alone in the library with the photo. He could not take his eyes off their smile. The picture had to be taken before the war. Suddenly, Harry wondered, for the first time in his life, why Voldemort had killed his parents. If they had only been opponents, the Dark Lord would have sent some of his men, but why go there himself, what did those people who looked so quiet could have done to him?

Basically, all he knew about them was that they were with Dumbledore and Snape hated his father. Hagrid had told him that he had his mother's eyes, but Harry was pretty sure that his mother did not have eyes glowing because of a mortal spell. He felt so ... far from them. They had belonged to another time, to other people. For him, they were nothing but ghosts with which people harassed him.

Somewhere in him, he wished he had known them.

When Harry went back into Damien's bedroom, the boy was sitting on his bed. He gave him an hesitant smile. Harry sat next to him.

"What happened?"

"I don't know... I guess I was overthinking about... well anyway it was just an accident..." Harry didn't answer.

His brother would never admit that he was sick, and there was no point to argue.

"How long did I sleep?"

"About a day. But you needed it. You scared Gladis you know."

Damien rolled his eyes.

"Oh no, she is going to be infernal..."

"It wouldn't be her if she wasn't." They both chuckled but the heart wasn't there.

"So, do you want to rest?"

"Oh no, I've too many things to do, I'm a busy man you know."

Harry smiled gently. He knew his brother was terrified. He helped him to get out of bed and offered him his arm in support to the library.

"It's stupid!"

Harry turned round furiously, his hands behind his back. His eyes shone with anger, and Damien raised his hand as a sign of appeasement.

"When I think we force the sorcerers to shave the walls like prey, but who are defending these laws, we are dying of consanguinity, and the only thing they find to solve this is To cut off the search for the ne-muggles and to condemn the wizards who dare defend their life against these fucking muggles! How many deaths do they need to see the problem ?! " Harry continued without even paying attention to his brother.

He continued to whirl, his eyes defying everything and anyone dared to cross his gaze (which mostly included book, a table and a smirking Damien). Damien was fascinated. He had never seen Harry get carried away for things that did not touch him directly.

"And I do not even talk about the other asshole! What the hell is their problem? Trying to destroy the only source of new blood in a people already on the edge of destruction! And killing pure-blood for pleasure? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Language."

Harry once again didn't even pay attention.

It had been several hours since Harry strolled through the library insulting each of the great magicians or politician he could think of. Damien took notes discreetly. It was not very built or said appropriately, but Harry's ideas made sense. Better, even, they could touch people.

Harry had just discovered Voldemort's ideals. He did not understand how so many people could have followed someone so crazy. The Malfoys, dammit! They were nevertheless reasonable and far from being idiots! Without even including in the equation the fact that the biggest family of wizards, to which they were intimately connected, the Blacks, had been totally destroyed in the name of its own safeguard! And Voldemort was coming back, and he was going to start over. It was absolutely necessary that Harry find a way to remove as many people as possible from his grasp. He had already broken two generations of wizards, not counting the number of death row inmates or Azkaban during his fall. It wasn't about light or darkness, not even about revenge. It was only about survival.

Harry was so absorbed in his reasoning that he had not heard Gladis appear before she ordered him to sit down before digging a hole in the carpet of his ancestors. Harry fell into an armchair with all the grace of the world, sighing. Really, it looked like it had floated down to the cushion.

He pouted when the elf put a piece of cake in front of him, explaining that if he did not eat it would not guarantee anything. Grumbling softly about Gladis' strange relationship with the notion of master and servant, he obeyed. Gladis could really be scary. Damien drank his tea to hide his hilarity. Harry Potter, the boy who insulted Voldemort out loud, who challenged Dumbledore, who was able to cast incredible spells without his wand, had just sat down and tugged at the back of his house elf.

But the elf was right. The past few days, Harry had been so locked in his research that he had forgotten to eat or sleep a minimum. But the return to school was only in a few days and he needed to regain strength. Damien no longer had a crisis as strong as Harry's. He had always kept a lock in one of the rooms of the manor and had discreetly asked the elves to clean behind him.

Obviously, Harry knew it, since he had full access to the other boy's mind, but he chose not to comment. Harry did not like showing his scars, and he understood that the crises of Damien were just other kinds of scars. If his brother wanted intimacy, he could offer it, but he always kept an eye on him. In truth, Harry was still behind the door, ready to intervene as soon as his brother presented the symptoms.

He spent his nights searching for what he could have had, and he had trained to throw away all healing spells he could find in books. But there was still nothing corresponding. Harry had also trained (now that he had permanent access to a combat room) to the spells contained in Quirell's book. He always took care to cast an innocuous spell just after he had read in the records crammed in the library that some criminals had been condemned by a spell to see the last spell they had cast.

Harry's favorite for the moment was Arresto momentum, A spell that simply allowed him to throw himself out of a window without consequences. And if Harry liked dramatic entree, he couldn't even stop to laugh about such a dramatic exit. But without the joke, it actually allowed him to ride a broomstick without fearing for his life. He didn't understand which the wizards were so attached to the idea of risking their kid's life.

It made him though that the quidditch's season would be starting with the classes, and he simply couldn't _wait_ to avoid that.

Harry had not seen Mia again. He knew that Damien and her corresponded by text, but apparently the mother refused to let her go beyond the bare minimum. At least she was not alone, she had someone to talk to. Harry had decided to let Damien take care of that. He did not have the patience to deal with children more than a few minutes in a row without anxiety. Damien, on the contrary, seemed quite at ease with them.

Dumbledore had spent several times at the manor to make sure Harry had everything he needed. He sent a message through his owl, arrived a few hours later and never stayed more than a few minutes. After a while, Harry had gotten the habit of always having a lemon pie ready for the headmaster. Harry did not know on which foot to dance with him.

If he summarized everything he knew about the man, he had reason to plan his death for the next few weeks, but he had nothing on the most important: his motives. Dumbledore was, in reality, a pleasant company once he could detach his eyes from his formidable robes. But in small doses, or else the persistent will of throwing a chair in his face would come back.

These contradictory elements pushed Harry to see the old man as a respectable enemy, who must always be kept in the eye even if one could agree to drink tea with him from time to time. The boy had decided that, apart from examining all the medical books he could find, his next research would be on Dumbledore's life. Harry was almost certain that the man was hiding dirty secrets behind his childish eyes and his Santa Claus face. Quite simply for a reason: no one could accumulate such power without having a little mud on their hands, even the leader of the light.

Damien evidently took badly Dumbledore's incursions into the manor, although he still had to ask permission from the elves before entering. The boy was obliged to caver — and thus to stop his work, and he was above all the presence of an enemy in his territory (which had pointed out to Harry that he behaved like a lioness when it of children around him). But it was necessary.

Harry still had not decided who he would choose to be his tutor. He simply did not trust anyone he knew enough. He was almost certain that everything the Malfoys would do would be reported to Voldemort in due course (even if they did not know yet), and that everything he would do with the Longbottom would be reported to Dumbledore, which wasn't much better. Moreover, choosing a guardian meant choosing someone who would have regular access to the manor. And he could not bear to put Damien in this situation.

Harry was also watching Ananta grow up. The snake was now the size of a dog. His scales had turned pale and the drawings on his body gradually disappeared, but his scales became more and more hard and sharp, creating rainbow reflections on the body of the reptile. While training himself, Harry had begun to train the snake to the art of combat, urging him to avoid spells, projectiles. Her biggest achievement was getting up quickly enough to make a real leap behind her. But she grew tired quickly. Harry had decided to take her to Hogwarts in her suitcase and leave her in the secret chamber.

Ananta had scolded for several days when he had told her, and he had laughed at her because it was the consequence of the fact that she had finally become great. Since this was not enough to calm her, he promised her to bring back other snakes to play with her, and she finally gave her consent. Of course, throughout the conversation, Damien understood what was going on in Harry's tone and expressions, and couldn't help laughing, hidden behind his book.

It would soon be the time to go back, and Harry was feeling a familiar energy at the back of his mind.


	8. Chapter 7

Hy! First, I wanted to thanks every fav, followers and reviews, it really help to write to know that people are actually following the story!

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Warning: blood, violence, the usual (not much but it will be worst in the next chapters)

Chaptre 7:

It was finally time to go to Hogwarts.

Harry was ... recalcitrant. He knew he had to go back to school, but the perspicuous to leave Damien alone ... Harry finally resolved, strictly ordering Gladis to pick him up anywhere if anything (Taking care that no one sees it). Harry could not help but be anxious. So that if Gladis had not prepared herself her suitcase (forbidding anyone other than her house elf to touch her affairs) he would have gone without anything.

He decided to let Damien sleep. He went out in silence, leaving a note on the living room table. Damien was exhausted, he was working too hard, and Harry knew it. But nothing he could say would change that. Damien was stuck between two worlds, and he had more than Harry aware of what the others were, all the children who had no idea what was going on around them. Unlike Harry, it was not for himself that he worked, and as a result, he could not stop. Not until you're free.

Harry decided to leave by the train. He liked to see the scenery pass by behind his window, while he was quietly sitting in his empty compartment. It was the only time he could afford to think of nothing.

Ananta was wrapped at the bottom of a bag with the ban on going out or making noise. Harry hated that. It was degrading to her, but they had no choice Harry had already had enough problems to momentarily silence the rumors, wandering with a snake declaring himself to the face of the world that he was the next Dark Lord. And with Dumbledore on his shoulder, he could not ...

Harry had the feeling that the Dumbledore problem was going to last a very long time. The old madman was already over a hundred years old and seemed in shape for his age. And he had almost all professors in his pocket (obviously since he chose them!). Re-thinking, Harry wondered how the headmaster had let Quirell enter.

Harry frowned.

That he even managed to escape his surveillance was understandable, he was far away, and Dumbledore could not expect Harry to be ... Harry. But Quirell was a teacher of Hogswarts. A school that had to have the most powerful shields of the magical world. In contact with children. There were only three solutions: either Voldemort used all his power to hide, or Dumbledore had become inattentive or ...

Harry shook his head. No, so much he could hate Dumbledore's methods, so he did not think he would go that far. And again, what would be his bloody motivations?  
Harry got out of his though as the train stopped.

In the corridors, students were whispering, looking at him with pity and curiosity. He hated that, but it was still better than the defiant eyes of the Griffondors. Harry will have to do something about them.

He immediately joined his friends down at the Slytherin's common room. They greeted him, looking at him with devouring curiosity, but as the room was full of people they didn't say a world except for banalities. Actually from the outside one could think that they were not much more than acquaintance. Harry acted distant, and they were smart enough not to question that behavior right now. At the feast, when everybody was shouting at everyone as usual (Harry could even see a food battle at the Griffondor's table), he just said on a casual tone:

"You know, there is a magnificent tapestry on the seventh floor, with trolls! You should go see it, but not all at the same time because the corridor isn't that large."  
They didn't raise their head from their plate as if he hadn't talked to them. Nobody seemed to notice their conversations. Harry couldn't help but to smile. They were acting on instinct and their instinct was paranoid which was good news.

Nott called him:

"Hey Potter! I heard you lived with muggles?"

Harry tensed immediately, and Draco looked at him. Harry nodded, indicating that it was fine.

"So you are some sort of mudblood, aren't you?" Nott laugh.  
Harry didn't answer. Dumbledore was clearly looking at him. Harry just continued eating like Not wasn't even worth of his interest.

"Hey Potter, I'm talking to you!"  
Harry rose an eyebrow, delicately put down his fork, and turned towards Nott. Still, he remained perfectly silent. He just stared at Nott, but his eyes were telling enough.

"I have better things to do than to answer your stupidities, Nott. Now, for Merlin's sake will you start to act with the dignity of your house, rank and name, and watch your tong?" He finally spat.

He saw the blood rush of his face and Nott sat back, shaming a mocking smirk. Harry's voice was... indescriptible. Actually, it was sweet, like it could warm you up with a single word. But the contrast with his words were so intense that no one could answer without looking like a fool.

Harry's face was the innocence incarnated.

The Green-eye boy came back to his meal, and no one dared talked to him during the rest of the evening.

A soon as the fest was finished, Harry rushed down the dorms, cast an invisibility spell around Ananta which was patiently waiting and headed to the seventh floor, using the secrets passages not to be seen. He finally managed into the Chamber, placed the serpent in the room where she immediately took her ease, and waited. He asked the castle to warn him if someone waited more than five seconds in front of the tapestry.

Draco jumped when a door appeared out of nowhere just in front of him. But, and he wouldn't even admit it to anyone, he was genuinely scared when Harry Potter opened the door and looked at him with his eyes.

Potter smiled.

"You're the last one." He said. There was no scolding in his voice, but Drago couldn't help but to be ashamed somehow. Of course, he kept his distant look, and nodded politely, while following the other boy. The place was beyond what he imagined. It was...

"Draco, you're here at last!" Saluted Daphne while waving here hand. She was sitting in a sofa, in an adjoining room which looked like a living room. Draco looked around him before noticing that Harry was smiling at him knowingly. Draco smiled back. Indeed, Potter didn't disappoint them. Draco wondered how powerful he really was.

"This place is wonderful, isn't it?" she continued.

Draco was surprise of how her shyness had faded away. When they all took place in their sofa, Harry clapped his hand to ask for silence. He was actually exited about it.

"So, this is the place I talked about. It is nice, it is safe for now on, even if I can't imagine something like this being a real secret. But before telling you anything, I will ask you to make an oath. Does everybody know what it is and how to make one?"

They nodded. Of course, they did, they were the children of the high class society. The first thing they had to know is how to keep secrets.

"Good, good." Harry sat in the armchair, in the middle of the two sofas the others were in.

Daphne was sitting next to Draco, Blaise in front of them. They were waiting for him.

"I want you to swear on your name and magic to never reveal this place to any other student or adult, except for someone whom name will be noted on the wall behind me." They all looked up to see the black space in the wall.

"Of course", he continued in a gentle voice," you must know that I have very good reasons to ask you such a secrecy. I hope you do understand the potential of what we could do together." He saw glimmer in their eyes.

Oh yes, that would definitely work.

He turned towards Daphne.

"I, Daphne Manuela Alastar Greengrass, heir of the old and venerable house of Greengrass, swear on my magic and my name not to talk about, show or lead anyone whose name isn't written on the living room's wall in this room." They all felt the magic stream around her for a few seconds, and she was bonded.

Harry nodded, with a thankful smile.

The two other repeated the same ritual.

"Now, I am going to tell you who this place works and why I made it. To access this room by yourself you must pass three time in the corridor, thinking "A place to prepare". The room adapt to the needs of the one that created it. There is a map of Hogswarts in the other room, along with different stuff we need. We also have a training room, my private quarters, and a tribunal."

"A tribunal? What's that for?" Asked a confused Blaise.

"I was leading to this. But first I must warn you that my snake is wandering in the place and that she will soon have friends of her kind, so you should get used to it. "

They nodded. They all knew how precious this snake was for Harry, and how ridiculously suicidal it would be to piss of a venomous snake off. "I was sure you would understand." Harry said with a smirk.

"Now, lets et down to business." He straightened in his armchair, looking into their eyes. Ananta choose this moment to show herself. She climbed over the back of her seat, looking at her comrades with suspicious curiosity.

 **"You did not tell Ananta you'd take your friends here, speaker ..."** she hissed

 **"Do not worry, they will not be here long, and then they can help me find your friends in the next few days, I'm not sure when I can come back."**

 **"Oh but speaker, Ananta wants to be on your shoulders!"**

 **"I would prefer it too, but it's impossible. If we see you, we could take you away or hurt you."**

 **"Ananta will kill anyone who wants to separate her from Speaker!"**

 **"I know little one, but I do not want to get to such extremes."**

The serpent sighed and placed his head against the boy's arm to be able to watch all the humans present near his master. They all turned pale and retreated to the sound of Parsel, but they made no comment.

"I will talk about more... important matters when I'll be sure that all ok you can keep a secret. I do not question your loyalty," he answered to Draco's gasp, "I question your abilities to keep your mind protected."

A flash of comprehension stroke Draco's eyes.

"I am already a fine occlumansist." he said proudly. Harry rose an eyebrow.

"I can read into your mind, Draco." he said as blood rushed out the boy's face. "Anyway, we will find out how to protect all of your minds. But first, I have a mission for you. You see, incidents such as Nott or the Weasley boy... cannot happen again, I sure you will all agree with that."

A smile rose from the corners of Daphne's lips. " We cannot allow a Slytherin to behave like this. This brings dishonor on our house. He should at least have waited to be in private, not in front of all the school!" She said slowly, with a bit of anger in her voice.

Blase nodded. "I agree. It was certainly disgraceful. And to call Harry a muggleborn..."

"I don't mind that." cut Harry.

They all looked at him in shock.

"I used to live with muggles and it was the worst thing of my life — for many reasons. But I will not take the blame for it. It isn't an insult for me."

He rose from his armchair, willing to change the subject. He was perfectly aware that his magic was starting to radiate around him, and he certainly didn't have the time for an explosion of any sort. Plus, they weren't ready for that speech. He motioned to the others to follow him and took them to what he had nicknamed the command room. The map of Hogswarts was hung there. He placed himself in front of the card, at the end of the table and turned towards them.

"My goal right now is that we have a right-of-way in the school, so we'll have to do a lot of things." First, that you learn the map of the passages, not all of them are Then I want a list of the prefects of all the houses and all the little secrets that we can find on them, so I will put in the confidence of people from other houses - but that is not useful I'm thinking of Granger and Longbottom. "

"Why them?" Draco asked, still suspicious of including a Muggle born in the project.

"Well, Draco, Grager is a talented, intelligent and perceptive witch. She has earned the respect of all professors who have no hateful attachment to the Gryffindors."

Draco raised an eyebrow at this new attack on his godfather. He did not understand why things deteriorated so much between what he thought were the two most intelligent Slytherin he knew.

"Then, Longbottom, you must have guessed that I have a talent for reading in thought, maybe he seems to be a coward for now, but I can assure you that he Has a lot of potential, and it is appreciated by the Gryffindors, and we come to the last point of the plan.I would bring Granger and Longbottom here probably next week and reestablish my reputation among the Gryffindors in the same movement, If you suddenly see yourself becoming friends with them, or supporting me, the professors will suspect something is going on. "

Blaise stepped forward.

"So you want us to accept these people as allies when we are here, but we are competing as their enemies in public." Harry smiled gravely. "And the same goes for me, and behave as if our relations were the coldest politeness."

"There I don't understand Harry ..." "Dumbledore." The boy replied simply, his eyes gleaming gently at the mere pronunciation of the name.

Blaise nodded. "My mother used to use technics like that in her work. It is the safest. Like that if one of us is caught, the others won't be suspected."

"That's the idea. And if you are in front of a teacher, you need to hide your though. To do that, think about something else, they cannot reach more without a spell. " Harry confirmed.

"Are you with me?" Something in his voice made them sure that he wasn't only talking about a little revenge on Nott. And this same thing warned them of the even though of betrayal. They all lived in families marked by the Dark Lord, and they were starting to see the similarities.

But Harry had proven his intelligence, and there was no better thing than to follow him. Not because of his power, but because they felt... attached to him. They were frightened of what he could do, but they weren't frightened for themselves. At this moment Draco realized that Harry didn't ask them to be his followers, his minion. He had asked them to be their friend and guide. Blaise slowly approached him and bowed his head.

"Harry, I know how to recognize someone powerful, and I do not talk about your magical abilities. You can count on me to be with you."

Then he straightened up, Harry thanked him with a nod, and the boy left. Daphne also approached. She looked at Harry in the eye for a moment, then whispered:

"You proved yourself worthy the day I fought at your side, Harry Potter, and I'd be proud to do that again." And without a word more she left. All that remained was Draco. He looked at him with that little haughty smile that made his charm.

"I do not even know why you're asking, Harry. Maybe we know our differences, but I can recognize a great wizard when I see one."

And on this he quickly inclined his head. Harry was a bit worried about this habit of bowing. It was too Dark Lord for him, and it only placed him once again in the position of responsibility towards others. But he decided to change that later, this victory was too good to be wasted by manners.

"Do not worry about your opinions about blood." Harry said satisfied. "I would soon have to prove my point of view, but that can wait, I think we already go beyond the curfew." Draco paled slightly and the two boys left the room as quickly and discreetly as possible.

It was already dark. They took the road that Harry had already marked out but found themselves blocked by Filch waiting at the end of one of the corridors. They had to turn around and take the stairs. They could distinctly between Filch talking to his cat behind them.

The staircase suddenly began to move, and, stuck between an unknown destination and Filch, they chose to move forward.

"Hurry up!" Harry exclaimed, pulling Draco, who hesitated by the sleeve. He knew perfectly well that what was in front of him was the third floor. But he refused to be caught now, for something so insignificant.

He promised himself to neutralize Flich as soon as he had the opportunity. They found themselves in a dark, decrepit corridor. Statues were placed there, covered with cobwebs and dust. There was no torch around them.

" _Lumos_." Harry murmured, and a halo of blue light illuminated the path before him.

"We should go ..." Draco blew. Harry nodded.

"But Flich blocks the only way out." Harry noticed another door in front of them, but when he wanted to open it he realized that it was blocked. "Hide behind one of the statues!" He ordered his companion. Draco obeyed immediately.

" _Alohomora._ " Harry murmured. He did not need to pass that door but ... he was curious.

Curious to know what this very dear Dumbledore hid in the castle.

He immediately closed the door and threw himself at Draco's side, then Flich entered the corridor, armed with his cat. Harry calmed his breath, but he was indeed panicking. The man was completely insane, this time he was sure of it. Or irresponsible. Maybe both. As Flinch went back into the stairs, Draco sent him a questioning look.

"Cerberus..." Harry whispered. Draco sent a frightened look at the closed door, clearly wishing he was somewhere far, far away from it.

"Don't worry I closed it well." said Harry before quietly getting up and starting to walk towards the stairs. Flinch was nowhere to be seen

"A cerberus!" murmured Draco, still not believing it.

Harry couldn't blame him. It was indeed insane, and probably illegal. But he had noticed something. The Cerberus was on a trap. He was guarding something. They were all so sulked by the idea of getting as far away as possible from the foul three-headed dog they did not see MacGonagald out of one of the classes until she coughed, Causing them both to jump.

"Can I know what two first year are doing in the dormitories at this late hour?" They looked at each other.

"We're sorry, Professor ..." Draco began in his most plaintive voice.

"There's no point in apologizing, Mr. Malfoy." She replied dryly. " I'll take fifty point each for this. But to make sure this does not happen again, you will go into restraint." Draco gasped.

"Professor, it's my fault. I was the one who asked Draco to come with me, so I think it would be more appropriate for me to go in detention."

He could not let Draco get caught by his fault. That would risk rancor and possess the boy to discouragement. And he would certainly not leave that frightful Flinch alone with his comrade. MacGonagall looked at him strangely, then replied:

"You misunderstood me, Mr. Potter. You're both going in detention."

It... it just didn't make any sens. Because they were somewhere they weren't supposed to be they were sent to somewhere they weren't supposed to be, and on the top of that, a place that was strictly forbidden for every student.

But at this point he just stopped wondering what was going on in the wizards's head. But he wasn't the only one not believing that Hagrid was in front of them, waiting for them to go with him in the Forbbiden forest. Draco was looking around him in terror, whispering about what would happen when his dad would hear of it.

And for the first time, Harry wished Draco's father would actually do something. But he had to calm the boy. He sent him a wave of calming raw magic. Draco looked surprised but thanked him.

"Come on boys, you're going to help me in the forest tonight." Said Hagrid with a concern expression. Harry had to fight not to roll his eyes. They entered the forest. Draco held the lantern, and they followed Hagrid very closely.

After a few minutes, the giant stopped. On the ground there was a puddle of silver liquid. Harry crouched beside Hagrid. He had never seen anything like it.

"What is it?" He asked as Hagrid soaked two fingers in the puddle.

"Unicorn blood, she must be wounded somewhere, I have found several dead in the forest in recent times."

Draco looked disgusted.

"We're going to split up here, Harry, you're going with Draco on this side, and me on the other. If anything Happen, just send red sparkle to the sky." "Ok but I want the dog!" Draco exclaimed, pointing to the enormous moloss that accompanied them.

"If you want Draco, but I warn you, he's a real coward." Hagrid agreed with an amused wink. And on his words he turned and left them. Harry immediately pulled out one of the vials he kept in his pockets and filled it with unicorn blood.

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered in spite of the fact that there was no one around to hear them (Harry wondered if any of the adults in this castle had a sense of responsibility).

"It's a very rare ingredient, and we will not see it again anytime soon! He who kills a unicorn or drinks his blood condemns himself to a life of damnation, but can survive the most serious wounds."

He turned towards Malfoy with a malicious flash in his eyes. "Let's enjoy the work of others and avoid this kind of problems!"

Draco nodded and imitated Harry. Once they were done, they stood up and started wandering in the direction Hagrid had indicated to them. Harry made prints with his foot on the way to be able to track back.

"So, what are you going to do about your adoption?" finally asked Draco. Harry was waiting for this; it was very clear the the boy had wanted to ask him this since they came back to school. Under the moonlight, Harry's skin looked even paler than usual. He was moving without a noise, and Draco caught himself thinking that Harry looked like... dead. Like a ghost flying over the ground.

"I don't know Draco. I don't want to be rude to your family, and I want you to know that I was very pleased when I learned that they wanted to take me but... there a lot of things that I need to consider before making a choice." he said diplomatically.

Draco opened his mouth to respond when Harry motioned for silence.

His scar burned him. He felt his heart beat in his temples. He could see a bluish form a little farther away, hidden by trees and foliage. He motioned to Draco to bend down and take out his wand. He advanced slowly, making as little noise as possible. He was tempted to tell Draco to leave but if the other boy moved away he could not protect him.

As he approached, Harry recognized that the white form was a horse — a unicorn. His scar heated more and more. A black form was bent over the creature, drinking its blood. The poor beast was still alive and his hind leg was moving in quick spasms.

It was cruel.

The thing was too focused on the unicorn to perceive the two boy. Harry instantly felt panicked Draco and grabbed the bars to prevent him from running in the opposite direction. He put a finger on his lips and pointed to the twigs on the floor. Draco nodded but he trembled. Harry did not blame him.

All his senses yelled at him to flee away from this filthy thing, but he was fascinated. What creature could be mad and desperate enough to have recourse to unicorn blood? He went no further, and remained on guard with his wand in front. Draco did the same, struggling against his terror.

It was obvious that they could not move without alerting the creature, or send an alert message, but that they could not stay there or they'll risk of being noticed.

They both reflected on the best thing to do when a branch fell from one of the trees on the ground. There was a moment of shock when the creature stopped butchering and the two boys held their breath. Then, suddenly, the creature straightened up, her black cap hiding her face until her mouth still dripping with unicorn blood.

" _Protego!_ " Shouted Harry. His shield appeared between him and the creature, but the boy knew it was weak.

Draco at his side pointed the creature, ready to attack if necessary, and to run away more likely. He was about to break the shield and run for his life when he heard a familiar voice. His heart just stopped and he broke down the shield as the creature was heading towards him, swiftly walking over the unicorn's body.

 **"** **Don't be afraid of me boy..."**

Harry started retreat, making sign to Draco to do the same thing. He didn't wantedto face him now. He stood still and kept his face neutral. Draco of course couldn't undertandwhat was happening, but with a sign of the hand Harry allowed him to run away. Whichhe did with much empressment.

 **"** **I'm not afraid."** He said fianlly.

The creature looked satisfied. Harry couldn't think of that as a man. No, not anymore. It was... something. Barely living. Harry didn't feel fringtned, nor full of admiration and curiosity. All he felt towards Lord Voldemort was pity. He had in front of him what had become of one of the most powerful wizards in the world. One that hundred had followed and that even more had feared. He couldn't help but to wonder how he had get down as low...

The creature raised his hand as if to touch Harry's forehead and the boy felt the magic spin around him. There was nothing aggressive, not even friendly. They were both aware of the need to test things. The hand was white, cadaverous, and gleamed lightly with the blood of a unicorn. As the hand approached, Harry's ears began to buzz, and he heard once more a scream, as if choked, a voice screaming in another room. The hand stopped and they both stood there, judging each other. Harry could almost feel the pain emanating from the creature.

He did not understand how he could still wish to live in these conditions.

He did not hear the hooves hitting the ground before something pushed him to the ground. He saw clogs rising threatening Voldemort, who immediately fled among the shadows.

The boy stood up. A centaur was standing before him. He was magnifiscent, Harry didn't think he could actually see one oneday. He was tall, with the face of a young man, white hairs that get down to the end of his back, and shining blue eyes gazing towards him. Harry stepped back. The centaur was actually quite impressive, almost as tall as Hagrid.

 **"** Humans should be careful with the creatures of darkness, especially you, Harry Potter." said the centaur in a calm, cavernous voice.

 **"** Thank you. But how do you know my name?" simply answered Harry, thinking that he actually had to be careful about absolutly everyone and everything.

 **"** Your reputation has come here too..."

Hagridcame back with Draco, which look relieved once he saw Harry in one piece.

 **"** Firenze! Harry! Oh, and I seenyou've found the unicorn... poor thing..."

 **"** You should go back to the castle, Hagrid. The forest isn't a good place to send children at night, especially now." Hagrid simply nodded. Harry couldn't believe that a centaur just had a more logical thought than whomever at school deciding of detentions. Actually, it might be Flinch, so it wasn't that surprising.

 **"** I was a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter." said the centaur, slightly bowing his head. **"** I was a pleasure for me too." said harry on the same tone. Firenzenodded to Hagrid and went back into the forest's heart.

 **"** What was this thing?" Draco asked as they were going back into the castle.

 **"** I cannot tell you, it's too dangerous." Harry answered more coldly than he wanted to.

 **"** I've seen it already! Can't you just -" He stopped himslef immediatly as Snape was waiting for them on the stairs. He had crossed is arms on his chest and looked at them like they were the most disgusting bugs he had ever seen.

 **"** I am utterly disappointed in you, Draco. It seems that Mr Potter have a bad influence on you." He said sharply, not even looking at Harry. Draco paled but didn't answered.

He looked into Harry's eyes.

 _Good_ , said Harry in his mind. Draco jumped slightly and looked at the floor. He nodded discretly.

 **"** As for you, Mr Potter, one could think that being in Slytherin had gave you at least a bit of a mind, but it seems like you still are a recless spoiled boy, just like your father... Did you though tat you could escape punishment just because you're famous? Mhm, things don't go that way, Potter, not with me."

 **"** By who?" simply asked Harry, all the innocence he had in his voice. Snaperose an eyebrow ans gaze at him furiously.

 **"** How dare y-"

 **"** There is no one to spoil me professor. Not anymore. Haven't you read the papers?"

Snape pinched his lips so much that they were reduced to a stroke. Draco took a step forward, standing slightly in front of Harry.

Snape glared at him and Harry let his eyes glow.

Anyone who ever saw in his life an Avada Kadavra could not be mistaken on this sparkling and morbid green. This color was a death's threat in itself. Harry's face seemed to turn pale and wear out. Snape felt some kind of uneasyness slipping trough his bones, crawling under his skin, something that said _run_.

The boy smiled at him, as he would have smiled at someone who was extrahoridly rude and ridiculous.

"Mr. Potter, instead of appealing to your fate, you'd better try to reflect on your thoughts that disgrace Slytherin."Snape answered, in a slightly less assertive but equally sharp voice.

Harry did not make another disrespectful comment, and simply replied:

"Yes, Professor."

 **"** Now both of you, in bed." Snaped Snape.

Harry noticed that Snape didn't even tryed to read his mind this time.

Of course, the first lesson of the next days was two hours of potions.

Harry and Draco sat next to each other, for more safety. As usual, Snape burst into the room like misery on the poor and barked a page of the textbook. All the students obeyed, and placed themselves in groups of two beside their cauldron. At the end of an hour and half, their potion had assumed a pretty golden tint, and they were on time.

Harry looked around.

Granger and Longbottom were not so lucky. It had to be said that Neville next to a cauldron was the worst possible equation, and all Granger's talents could not possibly compensate for such a mutual hatred. The fact that Snapewas constantly over his shoulder to scold after the poor boy obviously did not help.

When Snape passed next to Harry, he sniffed haughtily.

"I see that Mr. Malfoy once again saved the bet, Potter. Maybe you should work more on your potions than on your split."

Draco was about to respond when something exploded. Instinctively, Harry casted a Protego who protected him, Draco and Snape from the debris.

Snape looked at him with surprise but Harry rushed towards Naville witch was liying unconcious on the floor. He immediatly took his pulse and check for wounds. The boy was Ok, simply knocked out. Harry poited his hand at the boy.

 **"** _Episkey..._ **"** he whispered, and all the cuts disappeared.

He heard whispers around him, but the boy opened his eyes.

 **"** Wha-whathappened?" he asked.

 **"** What happened, Mr Longbottom, is that your poor skills in potions made your cauldron explode. Miss Grager, escorted him to the Hostipalwing, please." said Snape coldly. Hermione gazed at him but obeyed.

 **"** The class is over, all of you bring a sample of your potion, stor your cauldrons and leave." And on these words he returned behind his desk.

Harry noticed something shiny on the floor, discreetly took it and tucked it in his pocket. It was a necklace, probably Granger's.

Now that was a good excuse...

He walked out of the room quickly before Snape questioned him and waited for Draco, Daphne and Blaise in the corridor.

"I'm going to the Gryffindor."He murmured.

They nodded and headed for the common room. Harry went up to the Gryffindor tower. He noticed with amusement that the tower was indeed at the other end of the castle, as if one had from the beginning desperately tried to separate the two houses. When he came in sight of the fat lady, he hid behind a pillar and waited for someone to open the door.

A little girl, probably a first year too, ends up advancing and throwing: "Bravery!"The portrait turned.

Harry could not believe it. Even for the Gryffindors it was ... too Gryffindor. He sighed and stood before the portrait of the fat lady.

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Bravery."He said, containing a burst of laughter.

The common room of the Gryffindorswas exactly as he had imagined it: noisy, disharmonized and red. Several students were sitting on the sofas, playing cards or chatting. Harry noticed that none of them actually worked. Harry looked around a little, then waited for someone to notice him, which did not take more than a few seconds.

His green uniform largely denoted with all the red that surrounded him. He had been very careful to restrict his aura to a minimum. The Gryffindors, unlike his comrades, tended to attack when they were frightened.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"Shouted a nasal voice on his right.

Harry did not turn into the biggest calm. Weasleystood in front of what Harry supposed was the net of boys' dorms, surrounded by two other Gryffindors with a mocking face.

"I came to see Miss Granger, Weasley."Harry replied, his voice soft as satin.

"And what do you want from Hermione?"

Harry looked at Ron in the eye. He was afraid, oh so scared. A fox stuck in his burrow, huh? Harry smiled.

It was a false, frightfully innocent smile.

"I'm afraid it does not concern you, Weasley."He said.

"You're not allowed to be here!"The boy's voice was pitiful. In fact, his whole person was pitiful.

Harry tilted his head to the side, pretending not to understand.

"I had the code, the portrait left me past, so I have the right to be here."

"Leave him alone!" Neville stood between Harry and Ron. All the Gryffindors looked at him with surprise. The timid, weak Neville Longbottom, the gentle, so tolerant boy, stood upright like an i to defend a Slytherin.

"All right, Neville, do not worry," Harry teased.

"Non, it is not OK! Why are you doing this Ron? Saying all these things and stuff?"

Neville's face had turned red with anger. He clenched his chubby fists as if he was about to send them into Ron's face.

"He saved me, twice he came to my rescue while you were just watching, and you pretend to be Gryffindor?"

Harry whispered. He himself would not have dared this insult in the middle of all these little lions.

"What did he do to you?" He looked at the other two Gryffindors, Seamus Finnigan and ... Dean Thomas. Harry noticed that they were both half-blood. And they both saw him as a potential black magician. He could see himself in their eyes.

It's crazy how young people can be influenced.

"And you?" Continued Neville. "You have proofs, if that's the case, Ron has lied from the beginning, or exaggerated things!" "You defend this snake against the word of one of yours, Longbottom?" Ron disgustedly dismayed.

"I'm defending someone you're judging for things he did not decide. Does not it reminds you of something, Ron?"

The redhead began to blush. "How dare you?"

"What is happening?" Hermione had come downstairs and stared at the scene.

Immediately, Harry stepped toward her, suddenly appearing in her field of vision. He took her hand and put a kiss a few inches from her fingers.

"Just the person I was looking for! Hello again, Miss Granger." Harry pulled the pendulum out of his fist and handed it to him.

"I think you were misleading that in the potion course incident, and I came to tell you when Mr. Weasley thought it would be a good idea to show the Gryffindors that the Gryffindors have reserved for foreigners." With these words, he grinned at Ron, who blushed even more.

"Since I see that I'm not welcome, I think it would be better if I go back to the dungeons ..." he whispered, gently pulling back toward the door.

"You have all your place here!" Harry looked, surprised, two perfectly similar redheads who had risen from one of the sofas.

"Do not listen to our little brother, Harry," said one of them.

"He was lulled too close to the wall by our poor mother," continued the other.

"The poor boy!" they finished together.

The insult was too great for Ron. He stood between Harry and the door and came forward with a threatening look. He rose his fist. From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw some other Griffondors stepping forwards, obviously to support Ron.

"Yeah, Potter, why did not you stay with us, uh?"

Harry was not afraid of the poor boy, but he didn't want to fight and lose all the favor he had accumulated. One act of violence from him and Ron would have won. But something else might on the contrary please them... He had to show off.

 _Well, it takes what it takes..._

"I'm sorry, my friends, but it seems that one of you does not want me here, and yet I'm blocking the exit. But please note that I note your invitation. We shall see each other quite soon, I think we should talk about a lot of things." He turned to Hermione.

" It will be a pleasure to see you again." He said politely, and before no one had time to answer, he rushed through the common room, seated himself on the back of one of the sofas, and threw himself out of the window.

He heard screams behind him. The fall was exhilarating. He felt like he was flying. The tower was passing before his eyes and the ground was drawing closer. He could see the black lake, the forest, the whole school so calm. He sneaked his magic around him and dragged behind him like a comet's tail. As the ground was becoming closer, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He pointed his wand at his chest.

" _Arresto Momentum._ " When he opened his eyes, he had just stopped at about a meter from the ground.

He released the spell and gracefully grabbed both feet. He raised his head and saw several people look down. He waved to them, then noticed that someone was standing behind him. He turned to face Macgonagall and Quirell who were staring at him, his mouth wide open to stupefaction.

He smiled at them, his head bent slightly.

"Professors."

And he set off as if he had only crossed them in one of the corridors.


	9. Chapter 8

Chap 8:

 _My dear brother,_

 _Mia is making so much progress! I showed her the first-year books you copied, and she is getting better and better at controlling her magic (far from me do not worry). However, I am a little worried. The other children do not treat her badly, but her mother ... I do not know, sometimes she calls me in tears without telling me what is going on. I think I'll have to go and have a look myself in the next few weeks, at least to clarify the situation, even if I do not like to meddle in his life without his consent. You know as well as I how difficult it is to talk about these things._

 _It made me think of how we got in touch with her: a simple piece of paper with a number. I was wondering if we could do that on a larger scale? But it would take security, or something like that ..._

 _Just an idea, you said yourself that there must be dozens of children like us._

 _I see that your business is progressing well. Be careful with the small voice, it is surely much more powerful and intelligent than it seems, and broken things tend to hurt when they have power again ... well I do not have to say that, you know better than anyone I think._

 _Maybe I should meet the girl on the train. She is a muggle born, and she will help much more easily in the "Save the Children"part of your plan. And then I think that will reassure her that you are not the only one in charge ... of course I speak in years, it would already be necessary to be able to trust her on it._

 _Ifnot everything goes well at the manor. I keep looking, but all this is progressing slowly, and I would keep you informed when I have something concrete._

 _You should ask Gladis to stop following me, it's becoming creepy. I may have to go to the judgeto get rid of her! I mean, she does cook the best food of the all damn world, But it's kind of strange to have enormous eyes following your every move. And by that, I mean every move. Please pity me_ _brother._

 _About the incident with the Rude, I may have a tip: whatever you do, sign it. Find a nickname, a symbol, something you can not connect to. That, I think, is the only way to get the message across the school. I know you don't quite like him, but the Voice's methods in all the "terrorize-people-and-create-a-new-governement-in-secret **"** are quite the bests as far as I know._

 _Do not overdo yourself too much, and please avoid throwing yourself again through windows. I know you said you would be the first of us to die, but I had the idea that the battle would continue in our wheelchairs at the nursing home._

 _Keep an eye open, **  
**D._

Harry raised his head from the letter. He sat on the top of the astronomy tower and the cold wind lifted his hair and made him shudder. He loved this feeling, to be alone at the top of the world. The fresh air filled his lungs and slightly raised his black cape. He was not particularly afraid of being seated on the edge of the abyss, and he thought it was the best place to think. The lake roamed with the wind, and the forest seemed to breathe the cold air of late autumn.

Damien, as usual, had the best ideas. The boy had a gift to put order in the chaos Harry could create around him.

A name and a symbol, huh? Very Voldemort-ish, but it would work, he was certain. People only needed some springs to get on with what he wanted them to do. To tell the truth, he already had an idea, and he already laughed at the face that Damien would make when he knew. Voldemort had proved that name alone could be feared, and Harry intended to give only one name to Hogswarts.

You can stop a person, but not a feeling. Harry laid his dead green eyes on the landscape around him. Oh, that he was eager to lay his hands on this world ...

Harry had a few free hours. He didn't wantedto meet anyone, especially not Quirellor Dumbledor(whichwas still popping god know how around the castle time to time), so he went out. As it was a cold winter day, no one was outside **–** exceptfor him. It still didn't snowed, but the sky was white and cloudy. Harry had taken the chance to allow Anantato get out of the Secret Room, the snake was sliding at his feet, hidingunder his long cape. No one was here to witness her anyway.

He walked along the black lake, at the edge of the forbidden forest. Anantameandered everywhere, propelling to catch various rodents they were crossing. Harry let her have fun (she insulted every mouse she crossed by sneaking between the roots) and climbed onto one of the rocks that burned the lake. The cold air numbed its limbs. He wondered what could be at the bottom of this impenetrable lake. A lot of unpleasant things, probably, even according to Harry's criteria, which, he realized, were quite out of the ordinary. Anyway he could never bathe in this lake, he could not swim and could not put himself in a swimsuit. He smiled at the thought of his little comrades' reaction to his sight. Perhaps at last someone would realize what was outside this castle ... But he did not count on it.

If there was one thing he understood, it was how stubborn the witches were. But enough of that for now. He had come here in spite of the cold to change his ideas, not to plunge even deeper into the meanders of his life.

Harry frowned, which he did every time he was worried. Everything was going so fast ... and he had the feeling that they were only going to get faster.

 **"Speaker, speaker!"**

Harry turned to look the source of the joyful whistle. He stood up, dusted his clothes and joined the snake.

 **"What is it, beautiful?"**

 **"Ananta** **found eggs!"**

Harry frowned and followed the snake a few meters to where the forest was touching the lake. Eggs were hidden under one of the roots, half drowned in the frozen water. In view of their disposition, they had to be higher and had fallen. Harry recognized snake eggs but he could put a name on the specimenfrom the shells. He leaned over the enormous root and gently pulled the eggs out of the water, placing them on the ground where Anantaimmediately surrounded them. There were a dozen.

 **"Speaker they are too cold..."**

Harry did not know what to do with it. Without knowing the species, he could not know what they needed, and he did not know if his magic could heal eggs. He was afraid to send magic to inspect the inside and kill one of them by accident. Saving life wasn't his talent, after all.

There was only one person of his knowledge who would be able to tell him how to look after animals that had nothing to do there. Somewhere with a fireplace. Gently putting his eyes in his sweater, which he held with both hands to make a nest, he went to Hagrid's hut, hissing Anantato follow him.

It took time for Hagridto open when Harry knocked at the door.

The first thing Harry saw was a shaggy beard in the doorway, followed by two small, slightly panicked black eyes. "Can I come in?"Hagridtried to close the door, grumbling that he did not have time for it, but Harry concentrated his magic to repel it. He knew Hagrid's abrupt manner and did not worry about it, just as Hagriddid not care that Harry went into his house without his permission. The boy was wondering if Hagridcould even be concerned about anything. Except if someone insulted Dumbledore ...

Harry put the eggs on the table in the middle of the cottage. The place was dishonored, with old furniture and armchairs covered with ruffled blankets. Harry wondered how Hagridcould be so grateful to the old man as he let him live in such miserable conditions. Whatever Hagridseemed attached to this place. At least he was at Hogswarts. Agridlooked at the eggs with curiosity.

"I found them in the Forest."Harry explained to his silent question. The man didn't seemedto have noticed the big snake that entered along with Harry. Anantawas hiding behind the old couch. She was really getting good at this.

Harry had put the eggs as close to the fireplace as he could. Since he had found them near the lake, he humidified them to avoid a sudden change of temperature. Hagridwatched him do, curiosity made his little black eyes shine. He looked like a child.

"I do not think this kind of creature, whatever it is, is allowed here Harry ..."

"There is a cerberusin the school."Retorted Harry.

"Fluffy ... but he would not hurt a fly, you just have to know how to ..."

Harry stopped a second, then continued to look after the eggs like nothing had occurred.

"You know the cerberus? You gave him a name?"He said incredulously.

"Forget that, I should not have said that, no ... I should not have said that ..."

But Harry's curiosity had been stung.

"What is hidden under the hatch?"He asked innocently.

Any other person with a bit of a judge would have asked him how he knew there was a hammer and a hatch, but Hagridwas too naive and panicked to make such a reasoning. All his thoughts revolved around how Dumbledorwould be furious if he revealed the secret, if he told Harry about the stone ...

"I cannot tell you anything, Harry. It's a deal between Dumbledore and Nichola Flammel."

Harry nodded. He had enough information to do his own research, and there was no point in urging a man like Hagrid. He would be more cooperative if he was less on his guard.

Hereturned to take care of the eggs, reflecting on what Hagridhad just said. Hehad a vague idea of who was NicholasFlammel, but nothing more. Again, he regretted not having had more time to learn all that might be useful to him in this world.

A small crunch brought him back to reality.

A piece of shellfell, and a little red head came out. Soon the other eggs fell, and twelve little serpents with hard, sharp scales, all brown or green, excepted the elder, came out and wrapped themselves around Harry's hands.

Anantacould not help but raise her head from behind the sofa to watch the little ones.

 **"Hungrrrrry!"** Hissed the little red, and the enormous snake immediately went through a hole in the wall to bring back a dead mouse barely a minute later. Harry noticed that she had not bitten him, to avoid poisoning the babies with his venom.

Harry let them finish eating, then ordered them to hide in the pockets of his cloak-they were small enough for that, and after a wink at Hagridto make sure the man would not say anything, He went back to the castle, ran to the seventh floor, greeting all the pictures as if nothing had happened, and placed the little serpents in the Chamber.

Immediately, Anantatook matters into his own hands, according to the expression.

It was too late to get out without getting caught by the curfew, so Harry decided to stay there, Draco would cover for him if needed.

He sat in the sofa and watched Anantaexplain the life with a little arrogance to the little serpents, who wriggled everywhere and clung to the slightest whistling.

 **"... and you have to listen to the speaker. You know, I am still his favorite, but he will protect you too! But of course you will listen to me. One day, i** **will show you the forest..."**

 **"What is a forreesstt?"**

 **"Something you will like! Ananta like to go there too!"**

 **"Ooooooh!"** whistled the little snakes in chorus

Harry finally fell asleep on the sofa.

He was in his manor, watching children play in the library. They ran about everywhere, uttering amused cries when Damien caught and tickled them. He recognized Mia, who had hidden behind the table and was ready to leap to the rescue of her little comrades, knitting her nose.

There was a baby next to him, who chirped as he tried to catch a lock of his hair. Harry gently pushed him away, a smile on his lips.

Then he heard a crack. A broken window, a scream.

The manor was on fire. He wanted to rush in, but someone was holding him back. He did not understand. Children! The children are inside!

Someone was holding Damien beside him. Black veins pulsed on his face, and his face was contorted with pain. He could hear the cries.

Wizards! Sorcerers!

Harry wanted to stop them. He did not have the right, but he wanted it. Let his magic reduce them to pieces.

He was kneeling on the muddy floor. He felt the emptiness inside him. Something digging. And then he saw him, suspended, his head in front making an unbearable angle with the rest of his body. **  
**Somewhere behind him, Dudley was maknghis awful dance, and Vernon was laughing. A hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back. A blow broke his ribs. Somewhere behind the trees, red eyes watched.

Something sharp crossed his ribs. Cold.

Damien ...

Harry woke up, covered in sweat, shivering. He stood up. It was early, about two in the morning. The fire was still crackling in the fireplace, but Harry was cold. He needed to move.

He put water on his face to wake up. Heshould not have fallen asleep, he could have taken a potion, something ... At least this time it was a dream, not a memory. But it did not help him feel better.

Harry took new bandages in the bathroom he had moved in next to his room. He undertook to change his own and felt better at the touch of the clean and well-woven cloth. That too was something he could not do in the dorms. Without her bandages, the lanyard of her bag pressed against her twisted bones and torn muscles. The slightest hustle and bustle in the corridors became a hell, even though people naturally avoided contact.

He tried to surround himself with a magic shield, but it was exhausting, he was not trained enough, and the teachers could feel it. Then he had returned to the good old methods.

Harry left the Chamber as discreetly as possible. He looked around him, passing from one corridor to another, slipping into the shadows, trying to thwart the few pictures that were still awake. **  
**Suddenly, through an arch that separated two corridors, he saw Quirell. The man looked at him with a calm air, a little smile that did not belong to him at the corner of his lips. He was motionless. His eyes shone in the shade, two small marbles fixed on him. Each of them waited for the reaction of the other.

Harry understood. They were going to play.

A red lightning flashes from the shadows without Harry having had time to see Quirellpull out his wand. No, it wasn't Quirell.

Harry avoided the spell by reflex, but not the next. He stole and hit the wall behind him. His head spun for a moment and aarch pain down his spine, but he got back on his feet. Quirellhad not moved, and continued to stare at him with a smile.

Harry ran.

He tried to remain silent, avoiding the spells that happened to him one after the other. He passed through the secret passages, crossed the walls to places he didn't even know was there, Quirelldoing the same, always somewhere around him, casting spells, on the sides, in front, behind ...

Above.

Harry had hardly time to deviate his course to avoid the spell, very quickly followed by Quirellwho fell softly on the ground. He heard a chain noise a little farther down the corridor, and a light began to approach on their right. Harry's heart was racing and he stood breathless for a second.

Harry rushed, kicked, jumping in the direction of the professor, and as the man dodged it, he took advantage of it to pass him, continuing to run in the opposite direction. He hid in a trapdoor behind one of the tapestries and heard a sound of fabric being pulled.

Filch passed, looking suspiciously around, and Harry held his breath. The man passed by, followed by his cat, and the corridor returned into darkness.

Harry went out, crouching down and looking around him as cautiously as possible. **  
**Suddenly, Quirellappeared out of nowhere, in the middle of the corridor.

"Next week."He said simply, before turning and going away.

Harry would have thought he saw a red luster in his eyes.

On tiptoe, the child returned to his bed. His arms hurt, he was tired. He probably never ran so much in his life. He fell asleep even before his head touched the pillow.

It took a few days before Dapnhefinally found the fault at Nott. She handed it to him by a small paper that Harry burned immediately, before going to fetch the evidence she had deposited in the Chamber.

She really did a good job.

Blaisehad succeeded in putting the two prefects of Slytherinon their side: one of them had abdicated when his girlfriend started mysteriously to have doubts on his loyalty, and the other had been followed by a certain serpent for several days before asking for mercy and swear loyalty to a person whose name he did not know, but whom he would soon.

In the corridors, students clashed with others and papers changed hands.

Two hours before the dinner, Flinch was held on the third floor by a flood, Dumbledorwas out of the school for a meeting with the minister of magic, and the professors were held in their meeting room by a letter from the ministry, demanding changes in the school curriculum, sealed with an authentic seal, the writing was a little childish ... It took them nearly ten minutes to understand that the letter was a trap. Harry thought he should thanksLucius's inattentiveness for that.

When the professors arrived with a minute's delay in front of the hall for dinner, they were held back by a crowd of pupils who had accumulated in front of the door, some gossiping, others murmuring, many horrified, all eyes fixed on the door.

A photo had been enlarged and glued on the two doors, just high enough to be out of reach. One could see Nott, a little sloppy, grabbed a low wall and look through a crack that led ... to the girls' restroom. He smiled foolishly. The picture had been taken from the top, visibly without even the young boy realizing it.

Above the photo, a red eye had been painted, unique, fixing the whole assembly.

 _"I watch"_ was inscribed below in the same painting.

"Move."Coldly threw a voice a little further into the crowd. The students departed in front of

Professor Snape, followed by Quirell, Macgonagalland all the others like the Red Sea before Moses.

The professors stopped at the door. Harry could not see their expression, but Draco, who was on the other side, gave him a wink. Harry nodded discreetly. Blaisewas leaning against one of the pillars, a little behind, his arms folded on his torch and staring at him with a satisfied air. **  
**Daphne stood next to Harry, her chin lifted and his lips turned up in a haughty smile, the head-bearing of a queen.

And of course, Nottwas nowhere to be seen.

Flicharrived as snapewas vehemently whispering at Macgonagall. He tried to rip of the photo, but it just didn't want to go away.

"Good spell!"whispered Harry to Daphne, which had to hold her breath not to laugh.

"This bloody thing just don't want to fall!"squeaked Flinch.

Harry could almost hear Snape's sigh as he raised his hand and the photo fell on the floor. But the painting was still here, and the eye staring at each student like it could see their soul. MacGonagall turned, cleared her throat and claimed:

"Every student will now enter in the hall and eat. Professor Snape, I think you should find Mr Nottand keep him in your office until Dumbledore come back. Whomeverdid this stupid trick will of course be punished."

She open the door with a movement of her wand, without even turning towards it.

As the students entered in the hall to eat, the whispers didn't stop. Nottwas a bully, hated by most, and Harry could see an ecstatic smile on most of the faces. But some were grave, especially among the professors.

Harry mostly played with his food, listening around, just like the others. It was so satisfying. Across the room, he met the eye on one of the Weasleytwins. He smiled, and they did it back, impressed. They had a reputation all across the school for their tricks and amount of detention, but that one was art, and they couldn't wait to know who did it. Of course, they had the idea that Potter wasn't quite innocent in all this, but they couldn't bring themselves to think that it was him; he was only in first year after all. Maybe an older Slytherinwith great tastes in revenge? Anyway, they wanted to know who was this little genius.

"You should have seen the look on MacGonagall's face!"grinned Draco. "She was positively outraged. It looked like someone had spit in her teacup."

"Oh dear, wait to see Nott's punishment. Being a criminal is something, but to break the rules of politeness and behave towards young ladies under Macgonagall's watch, it's a felony."rejoiced Daphne.

"His punishment isn't the most important."Harry showed the hall with a theatrical movement of his hand. "There will be gossips. Laugh. Just wait until someone writes a song about it."

They looked at him with sparkles in the eyes.

"The greatest weapon in Hogwarts isn't the Professors, nor the headmaster, nor the monster or the wards... itsthe students. And they looked like they are excited for a brand new job."

They chuckled.

"So, Daphne, tell me, how did you find out?"

"Well, the man couldn't stop to brag to the others boys in the common room. Look at how they have their nose in their plate because of the shame..."she sent them a wolfish smile.

"You can be proud of yourself."Harry confirmed.

"For Hogwarts's girls!"She laughs.

Someone at the Huffleppuff's table over heard the last sentence. It was a pretty boy, a few years older than Harry, with brown hair and sweet gray eyes. He rose from his sit, and rose his glass over his head.

"For Hogwart's girls!"He said cheerfully, and soon the sentences was repeated all across the room, mostly by the girls.

"My my,"whispered Draco, "if even the Hufflepuffare on it!"

"It's only justice."Explained Daphne with a pointed look.

But Harry's joy was beyond that. The school was with the eye. It was the best entry he could have imagined.

The pupils were accompanied by the prefects in their common room. They had to stay there until Snapewalked into the room by stealing the door (really Harry was wondering if he should pay for repairs by opening them all up). He folded his arms, frowned (even more), and watched every student as if he could find the culprit by looking him in the eye. **  
**He could.

Harry caught the look of his companions before Snape's eyes fell on them and moved their lips without emitting any sound.

Do not look.

Immediately they all seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the walls, the ceiling, or their feet. **  
**Harry confronted the professor's eyes. The onyx meets the emerald, but neither of them won the battle. Harry had never seen anyone with such solid defenses, and it was getting more and more frustrating. He raised a questioning eyebrow, his hands behind his back, like a good student waiting for permission to speak.

Snapelooked away and continued to stare at the other students.

"Obviously, the person responsible will be punished, whatever it may be, and although his intentions have been ... commendable. I should like to say that Mr. Nott's attitude was a disgrace to our house, and that if we were to find him... accomplices, they would be punished with the most severe severity. Two hundred points were withdrawn at Slytherinfor this misdeed. So I'm counting on you to keep you, although the thing is complicated for ... some."He looked at Harry with a smirk. "To bed. Now."he spat finally before turning away with a twirl of his black cape.

"He does he do that?"asked Harry, truly impressed by the man's capacity of never walking on his own extraordinarily long cape.

"Practice, I believe."Answered Daphne with an amused expression. She saluted him and went to the girls dorms.

Harry got into the boys' dormitory, which was in an untenable mess. Nott's two accomplices, who usually followed him everywhere, attacked the other boys, accusing everyone and anyone of having betrayed their friend. One of them had his finger pointed at the chest of a quite impassive Draco, who was looking at him, probably wondering how an insect could make so much noise.

"It's you, I'm sure!"Cried the adolescent, his face flushed with effort.

"Shut up, Flint!"shouted someone from across the dorm. "Because of you and your dear friend, we lost two hundred points!"

"Yeah! The shame is on us all because of you!"

"And I can't believe that you dare put your filthy finger on my chest. What is it, Flint, you want to wipe your dirt on my clothes?"spat Draco.

Flint backed away, continuing to blush with anger. Harry was pleased. The bully being bullied, now that was what he called justice. And Draco was very, very good at that. But the boy's face... it was blurring in front of his eyes. His face was looking like an other... one Harry had met in what looked like another life. A face that should have had disappeared. He was calm, very calm. He knew it wasn't the same. It wasn't that boy that had the misfortune to die, that day at Pivet Drive. It was just the face of blind and violent stupidity.

And Harry could be violent, be he hated stupidity.

"You are traitors to your blood, that's what you are!"

No one knew who gave the first shot. Harry had perhaps cast a discreet spell to bring the teenager

down to the ground. Still, in a few minutes, he finds himself hit by his little comrades. **  
**Harry watched the scene for a minute or two, back. Crabbe and Goylewere clearly doing the most damage, since Draco and Blaise had abstained. Then he descended calmly, and went to knock at the door of Snape's office.

After several long seconds, the professor finally opened the door. In the gap, Harry could see Nottsitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk in tears. He would almost have pity the boy if his fall had not allowed him so much, and if he had not been so rude.

Snapestood in front of the door, cutting the boy off.

"What is it, Potter?"He asked, with his eternal mocking smile. "Are you feeling alone, your groupies are not paying enough attention?"

"A student is being beaten in the boys' dorms."Harry replied.

Snaperushed pass the green-eye's boy, leaving Nottalone in the office. Harry smiled slowly at the boy, and followed Snapeto the dorms.

By the time the bat arrived in the dormitories, Flint was rolled into a ball on the ground, in blood, superbly ignored by his little comrades who had all gone to bed. Snapehelped him get up by grabbing him by the arm and went out to the Hospital wing.

"This will be settled later."He said menacingly before going out.

Harry slipped into his bed and pulled one of his books out of his bag.

 _"Lumos."_

And he plunged again into his medical book.

The next morning, all the professors were tense, and everybody knew that Dumbledore would give them one of his famous speeches. His first class was transfiguration, and MacGonagall was looking upon all of her students like they would turn themselves in at any moment.

The lesson was about turning a match into a needle. Everybody seemed to struggle, and Harry just watched them for a time. They were trying hard, too hard. Harry remembered what he had read in one of the manor's book: the important was the intention, and the will. He closed his eyes, concentrating, it was his first try. Harry knew that he was far beyond in wandlessmagic and aggressive spells, but this was a delicate work that required a total control of his forces. He really didn't wantedto turn everyone around him into giant needles, and transfiguration wasn't his strong point for the moment.

Then, he cast the spell.

"Congratulation, Mr Potter!" **  
**Harry was indeed holding a bright needle in his palm, and Macgonagalltook it to show it to the class.

"This is a perfect work of transfiguration. Ten point to Slytherin."She said, giving him a bright smile.

Harry could almost feel the contentment of the other Slytherins, and Granger was giving a disappointed look at her own match, which only had turned to something gray for as far as Harry could see.

She was good, but she though too much. She couldn't let her magic go, and put enough energy in her spell. Well, she would figure it out, eventually.

At the end of the class, he crossed the twins.

"Oh Harry!"Called one of them.

"Throw yourself like that from the top of the tower ..."

"It was very cool..."

"Are you sure you're not a Gryffindor?"They finished together.

Harry narrowly avoided the arm they wanted to pass over his shoulders.

"Come on, do not insult my honor!"He said, laughing. "And do not let the snake's nest hear

you ..."he added with an air of accomplice.

They both threw a wink at him.

"Tell me, I've heard about your... tricks. It's not you who have trapped poor Nott?"

"We?"

"If only..."

"I'm afraid we don't have enough experience yet..."They looked utterly disappointed.

Harry nodded.

"Well, do you know that I might have something to show you tomorrow night, and if you were to pass on the seventh floor, in the east corridor, say, at an undesirable hour? I may know someone that would give you informations..."

They looked at each other, nodded sharply, before running around, slipping a stinking bomb into the coat of a third-year-old Ravenclaw.

Harry went down to the kitchens of the castle- well, not quite.

He went into the common room of the Hufflepuff, which was fortunately next door. According to the schedules he had stolen everywhere, the young man who had risen at the time of the great scandal, as the pupils now called him, ought to be there.

Since everyone had access to their common room, Harry did not notice too much. It was rare to see a Slytherinin the neighborhood, given their tendency to confinement, but it was not shocking. The room resembled a large tavern, where the students spoke loudly, laughed, ate, played. The atmosphere was completely opposite to that of the Slytherins, full of music and people actually acting like people.

Harry told himself that the place was perfect for getting messages without teachers telling himself. It was much easier to hide things in a cafarnaümthan in a clean and tidy place. And much less suspect, too.

As he had foreseen, the boy was there, sitting at one of the tables with a first year, a small, black-eyed blond Harry had seen at the distribution ceremony.

"May I sit?"

The two boys looked at him curiously for a moment, then the older man motioned for him to sit next to him with a big smile.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, I do not interrupt something important I hope."

"No, do not worry." Replied the young man. Harry noticed that he had a straight nose and gray eyes. As he had guessed from a distance, it was a boy who had to please. But more importantly, Harry did not discern any bad thoughts in him. The boy held out his hand. "Cedric Diggory and the young man here present is named Ernie Macmillan."

Harry shook his hand.

"Harry Potter."

Ernie looked at him with big eyes, but Cedric only enlarged his smile.

"Enchanted, I heard you were doing prowess."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I work harder than most, since I have a lot to catch up with."

"Much to catch up? But you're Harry Potter!" Ernie exclaimed.

The boy had an acute voice, and kept twisting his hands. He had heard the rumors.

"Oh, I know my reputation, but we should not rely on it. I was raised by muggles, you know."

They both looked at him with astonishment once more. Cedric had no a prioris, but his young comrade was immediately reassured. Harry thought that the Muggles would definitely be a good cover if the dear little voice became too authoritarian. He had not heard her for quite a while, for

that matter.

"Anyway, I came to talk to you, Cedric. Can I call you Cedric?"

The boy agrees immediately. Harry thought he loved the Hufflepuff. Anyway, that one.

"I wanted, on behalf of the other Slytherins, to thank you for your intervention during the great scandal ... There were ... lots of tensions, especially between a bunch of boys and girls. Feelings supported by the whole school, and then it was quite courageous. " Harry said, leaning his head to one side.

Cedric nodded softly.

"I only did what I thought was right. And then it's your friend who started, Greengrass I think?"

"Yes, she felt touched in her honor, not only because of what Nott did, but because of the reputation

that it will bring to the Slytherin ... you must know Slythrins are very picky with reputation. "

"Oh, I understand."

Harry could not help laughing at Cedric's air. Ernie looked at the conversation as if it were all

surreal.

"In any case, the eye has had it. I'm glad someone intervened, even we do not know who it is."

"Considering the reaction of the professors, I understand that he or she preferred to remain anonymous."

"Yes, we were talking about it with Ernie."

Harry let the two boy explain the situation to him. Everyone wondered who was the eye, so much so that the question had almost made the bullying against Nott. Especially since there was no clue, not even a house, nothing. The rumors were going well, and some even suspected a teacher a little player. Cedric was rather of a Weasley misdeed. Harry could not help but agree.

He sat for a long time, trying to find out who was the eye. Very quickly, other students joined them, especially in the first year, like Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot or Justin Finch. Harry gradually faded from the conversation and let them talk. They had brought another table, which had covered itself with hot chocolate and had been surrounded by chairs. Other students joined the debate, and Harry learned a lot. Many suspected a Slytherin girl, with no particular name in mind. In any case, it was probably a pupil old enough to have set up such a ploy, and succeeded in keeping the teachers away at the right time, not even mentioning the magic used.

And every one agreed that the eye had done something right. Out of the rules, yes, but right. Nott was a rich pureblood, he wouldn't have been punished otherwise.

Harry had to go back in classes, he waved goodbye and left.

When he returned to the Slytherin common room, he decided that next time he would take others with him.


	10. Chapter 9

A New chapter!

To answer to the revews, I am going to ask someone to correct my previous chapter, all will be reupdated this month. I am truely sorry if my mistakes bother you all, once again, and I ope I will do better. I wanted to thanks each fav and follow, because I hope that my story is interesting and that you like it!

I have changed a bit my style here, so let me know if it is better or if I should return to something more like before. This is a darker chapter, and I think I will continue on that vein for now on, but just let me know what you think!

Warning : Blood, violence, child abuse

Chap 9:

When the Weasleys entered the Chamber, they had the same reaction as everyone else, that is, they opened the mouth in a little cries of admiration before jumping everywhere. Harry had slightly modified the room, hiding his private apartments behind a trapdoor, as well as anything that looked like a black magic accessory.

He invited the twins to sit on the sofa, and himself took his usual chair.

"So, what do you think?"

"We could not have asked for more ..."

"But we were wondering ..."

"What are you doing in there?"

"That's the reason for your presence, you see, I know someone who have had enough of a few things in this school, such as Mr. Nott."

"So, you know who's the Eye?"

Harry shook his head.

"No one knows who he or she is, but we have an idea of his intentions, so here is the deal: we offer you this place to prepare tricks, with which to store your material and to improve it, I can assure you allies, especially among the prefects. "

"And in exchange?"

"You swear on your magic not to reveal this place to anyone whose name is not on the wall behind me. You help us, you become our ... accomplices? "

The twins looked at each other for a moment, a big smile on their lips.

"So you are asking us loyalty..."

"In exchange for ways to do tricks that will go into Hogwarts history?"

Harry nodded.

"And I want you to know that I have a personal grudge at Flich."

"Well, Mr. Potter, it looks like we have a plan."

Harry nodded in approval. The twins noticed that he really had the air of a Lord sitting on his chair like it was a throne. They were curious, they were thrilled. And that was a feeling that they loved.

"Call me Harry, please." The boy said with a civilized smile.

When the Weasleys left, Harry stayed in the room to retrieve his new books. He had not been able to continue this work among all the rest of what he had to do. And one thing was certain, he had a lot to do. He did not raise his head when Draco entered and lay down on a sofa (Harry had finally put those everywhere, seen the tendency of his comrades to lie down everywhere).

Harry finally looked at him in a corner. He read a letter, looking more preoccupied than usual.

"You know, Draco, you shouldn't worry that much about what your father say."

Draco looked at him in surprise, then sighed.

"I don't want to disapoint him." he said, sitting more seriously on the couch. "I have to live up to my family."

"I know it mean a great deal to you. Tell me, I learnt that your father used to be a Death Eater?"

"He was under Imperium!"

Harry gently raised his head.

"You know, Draco, I know you're afraid your father will be sent to Azkaban, it's very understandable, but never lie to me again."

Harry's voice was soft. He did not need to threaten. The fact that Draco had never seen him hurt anyone served only to fuel his imagination, which at that moment ran before his eyes and made him shudder.

"Sorry..."

Draco, I'm going to ask you a very simple question, and I want you to not repeat it to anyone. Talk to no one. Have you understood? "

Draco straightened up. Harry knew the blonde was terrified, but too proud to show it. He admired that, but could not help thinking how stupid it was. So much decorum could only hide much less venerable things.

"If the Dark Lord were to come back, would your family support him?"

Draco's eyes widened and he nodded gravely.

"I see." Harry went back to work, controlling with a lot of fountain pens that recopied the book he was reading. The noise of the mines scraping the paper fills the room for several minutes. Harry weighed the pros and cons. He had to know how far he could push Draco. The boy was a gifted wizard, Harry knew he'd probably need him sometime, and then he'd come to appreciate it. But he had to know very quickly all the strength that Voldemort could raise if he came back, no, when he returned.

He had to know who he should hide from. Who would be on his way. Who was still swinging.

"And what do you think will happen if this eventuality happens?"

Draco thought for a moment, then a big smile lit up his little pale face.

"The Death Eaters will meet, and the raids will begin again ... There will be a war, I will probably be marked, then I will fight at their side. Allegiance to the Dark Lord, these disgusting mudbloods will be eliminated from the face of the earth, and sorcerers will reign over the Muggles."

Draco almost said it as if he was telling a fairy tale. Harry then realized that he did not say what he thought would happen, but what he had been promised. What his father had promised him. What he expected of him, as heir, as a Malfoy. Three generations of Death Eater. A real honor. This would bring success to his family. Harry felt a pang of sadness. None of this was true, and he wondered if Lucius really believed in it. If he thought he had a place next to Voldemort. If he believed that this would give him power, a descent. That this would save the sorcerers, would allow them to reign undivided on the world, in a total supermacy. He wondered how many people believed in this dream.

Or maybe Lucius was aware of what he was talking about. Maybe man loved blood, enough to become blind to the rest.

Or perhaps he himself was merely following the tradition of what he had been taught.

Harry couldn't let that dream poison Draco, or anybody. Not anymore.

"You will swear submission to the Dark Lord." He said slowly.

"What?"

"Nobody joins the Dark Lord. No one is his equal. At best a useful pawn, at worst a sacrificial pawn. Do not expect anything better, Draco, especially with your family."

"My fami-"

"You said it yourself. Imperium curse."

Harry looked at Draco in the eyes. He needed to warned him, or all of this could go really bad. He could almost hear the boy's brain working to every possibilities and implications of what he had just said.

Harry knew Lucius Malfoy was a twisted cunning man doubled with a coward. But Draco could do something about it. Like get rid of him if necessary... But, one step at a time.

"I have a question. Why Granger? I mean, I understand that she is smart and gifted, but I'm starting to know you in a way, and I can't stop to think that there is something else..."

Harry looked at the ceiling, lost in his toughts. Then, he turned his attention back to Draco.

"Because she is a know-it-all mudblood. Think. I already have a reputation of Dark Lord in training, which you will understand isn't a good thing under Dumbledore's care. And I know a lot of things that I'm not supposed to... So if anything happens, I will be accused."

"But nobody can accuse someone well-known as a muggleborn lover. Good call!"

Harry smiked in a very Slytherin way.

Draco was wondering about the conversation. He wanted to ask if Harry was talking about more than a possibility. But there are questions that we do not want to answer, and Harry's look couldn't even give him a hint. He was lost. At first, he had thought of Harry as a new Dark Lord, but now, he wasn't so sure...

Malfoy observed Harry, he hoped discreetly, during the meal. He had been trained in black magic, or at least the basics of his youth, but Harry felt something more dangerous than what his father kept in his secret closet. Draco had managed to thwart the lock when he was ten, and he still remembered the punishment. His father loved him, he knew, but there were things he could not tolerate. Disobedience was one of them.

Draco had not expected to feel so close to Harry. But strangely, the boy seemed to understand his situation. He did not judge him, he did not laugh, he did not denounce it. But there was something else.

The danger. Draco could feel it. He was the son of a Black, Bellatrix Lestrange's nephew, and his family was one of the first Death Eaters: Draco knew how to detect the danger. And if everything in Harry told him to trust him, something told him that a danger was not far.

The conversation he had had earlier in the House did not reassure him on that point. Yet Harry seemed so calm ...

Really? The first half of the year was not a good one, and one could already see black circles surrounding his eyes. He always wore a scarf, as if he were still cold. And Draco had noticed when he shook hands with him: the boy was frozen.

Harry could talk to snakes. This was the sign of the black magicians; His father had told him how the Dark Lord whispered to his gigantic python to swallow muggles. And he was the hell of a Legilimens. And his eyes... Draco admired him. But Harry had protected a Mudblood. He clearly saw contradictory signals. The thing was, for now on, the boy spoke the truth.

Draco had decided not to talk about that kind of thing to his father. He told him how good Harry was and he appreciated it, but nothing else. One day, Mr. Malfoy had told him never to trust anyone, and Draco took it literally at the time, well, until he was fixed. He had to be careful, for his family.

Harry decided to go to bed with the other Slytherins. Even though he was cautious, he knew that his constant abscences at night began to raise questions, and he clearly did not need questions right now.

He was feeling the energy grow into the depths of his head. He did not know if the unicorn blood would actually restore his power to Voldemort, but his energy was growing. Harry was exhausted. He had too many things to do, and too few people to help him, but mostly he had too little time. In other circumstances, he would have advanced gently, checking everything on every person he was crossing, but he could no longer do that. Everything was connected, and he could not let it down. Because Harry knew that if Voldemort returned to power, Damien would die. There was no doubt about it: he was an easy target.

The boy was doing everything to save time. He learned every spell on which he fell, stole all the books that were dragging in the bags of the various pupils, so that Filch had decided to open an investigation.

He also had to choose a guardian. And he had to prepare for the next time Voldemort thought it would be good to run after him in the corridors of the school.

Harry was exhausted.

It became harder and harder for him not to cut his little comrades to pieces. To restrained, to control his magic. To keep everything under a cover, not to end up in Azkaban. He did not send his fist into Nott's head, which had finally returned from the hospital (he had had two or three broken ribs, very quickly repaired, and to Harry's great astonishment, no punishment had fallen on the other students). To listen to Dumbledore's speech about the immorality of doing justice was a real ordeal. Especially the part where he enjoined all the students to love each other. Harry wondered if the drug existed in the wizarding world, or if the old man really took them for fools. Well, to see most faces full of admiration turned towards him, he was perhaps right on this point.

Harry admired Dumbledore too, but not for the same reasons. Because he was the most powerful wizard in the world, a still trusted, because he had managed to never go into Azkaban, because he was one of the smartest man alive. But he knew Voldemort didn't lied when he said to not trust him. Something was wrong with the man, and saying wrong, Harry meant even more wrong than Voldemort.

As the other boys were chattering, Harry caught himself in a doze, his back resting against the wall lining her bed. He struck his arm to try to stay awake, but his eyelids closed themselves.

No no no he could not fall asleep. His own mind was the worst trap, he knew too many things, he could not lose control over all the others. He had exhausted his potion side, demanding more would attract the attention of Mrs. Pomfrey, so he had to force himself to stay awake, and work, read something, maybe just to steal an object across the room to improve his Concentration, but not sleep ...

He struck his arm once more when he realized that he had closed his eyes again. He really had to learn how to make these potions himself, but it required even more time and energy, the two things he just lacked.

That, with a simple, comfortable life, out of danger where nobody could have the sudden will to kill him or send him to the worst place on earth for the simple crime of defending himself (he recognized it, with a little imagination, but the situation remained the same).

When he awoke again, the dormitory was plunged into darkness. The other boys breathed slowly and peacefully into their sleep. It took him a few seconds to focus on what had awakened him so suddenly.

At the foot of his Gladis, was shaking his legs. She was panicked.

"Master Potter, Master Potter!"

Immediately, Harry felt a stone fall into his stomach. Recalcating the sky, he did not put himself in his pajamas, he grabbed the little elf by the arm and dragged him into the dirty commune where they could talk without provoking a riot. He heard his heart beat in his temples and was very aware that half of the furniture was already floating in the air.

"It's Master Damien, he had gone out, and when he came back he had what you said, the veins and the smoke, but even more than the last time, then Gladis came!" She kept shouting, "Gladis did not know what to do! "

Harry did not even bother to reply, and hurried down the corridor with the poor little elf under his arm.

He needed a doctor. He needed someone he could shut up in one way or another if needed, someone skilled and with a well-hung heart.

Snape.

Harry did not take the time to reconcile the question.

"Gladis, teleport us into Professor Snape's apartments."

The usual sensation of nausea appeared and disappeared as Harry appeared in the middle of a living room, visibly in the dungeons. He did not bother to look around when he heard a door open on the fly behind him.

"What-"

Harry stepped onto the teacher, but the teacher had sharp reflexes to the boy's surprise and grabbed his arm. Without even trying to disengage himself, he shouted:

"Gladis, the manor!"

They reached the manor. The whole building trembled with energy, and a kind of black oil had spread over everywhere.

Outside.

It came from outside.

Snape had already stood up, and when Harry began to run outside, he followed him without question. The boy did not even notice it.

An enormous black ball danced above the ground, destroying everything she touched. In the middle, there was Damien. His eyes had become black, and the smoke came out of his skin as if his flesh had opened on a fire. Black veins ran over his whole face, pulsed, stretched, rotted his body.

He screamed. His limbs trembled.

This thing was eating him from within. He could see it nibbling every bit of the child.

Harry ran to the black smoke, and without hesitation entered the inside. He did not bother to use his magic. He could not cast a spell. He knew it would only make things worse. He ran, dodged, fell, repeat. But he was near, so close. He was scared. What he had in front of him, he was afraid it would kill his brother. And he went on. One step after another. He was runing in circle, avoiding the black cloth, the mist, whatever it was that was trying to kill him. He concentrated his magic on his leg, making them more powerful, faster, faster...

Somewhere deep in his mind he understood why Quirell had huted him through the corridors. Left, right, jump, run.

He finally managed to lay his hand on Damien's arm. He took him in his arms, and heard all his ribs crack. Harry should have whispered a spell, but at this point he was not sure it would not kill Damien. Then he whispered all the things he could to appease him. The thing that consumed Damien began to shrink, and then was swallowed by the boy, who collapsed on the ground in convulsing. Bloody foam came out of his mouth and his eyes were reversed.

Harry fell with him. He raised his head and looked at Snape who had remained there, almost in choc, outside the perimeter of danger.

"Help him!" Harry shouted.

Snape did not need Harry to ask. He had already rolled up his sleeves and was running towards the child. He invoked a potion that he forced him to swallow and put it on his side, until all the liquid came out of his mouth, then took him in his arms and strode up the manor. Harry guided him to Damien's room, removed all the duvets and pillows from the mattress.

Snape put Damien on the bed. He was about to cast a spell of care when Harry stopped him with a wave of his hand. Snape glanced at her. More than ever, Harry hated him because he could not read his thoughts, but eventually let him do it.

The young boy's heart leapt as Snape reached out to launch the spell, which showed a small parchment next to Damien, on which words kept appearing.

The brand. Snape was a Death Eater.

But Harry could not back down. In the worst case, he should kill the man and hope that Voldemort would not chase him across the globe for that. He had no choice at the moment.

The little parchment just stretched out, and Snape frowned. Harry knew what it was. All Damien's medical history passed before his eyes. And the parchment continued to lengthen.

Snape gently lifted the child and proceeded to remove his t-shirt. Harry helped him immediately. None of them spoke.

Damien had many scars. He was much better than Harry, in a way, but on a body as small and young as his, it was impressive. Still, Snape did not react. He contented himself with auscul- tating the child with a precision.

Of course. This man must have seen worse. He must have seen battles. Or even the result of the work of the Dark Lord. Onyx eyes scrutinized every corner, checked every scar. He stopped for a moment before the enormous scar that Damien had on his skull, but continued in the same way.

Harry held his brother's hand. He was not trembling. Something in him held back. He had to be calm, strong, more than he had ever been, because he had to protect the child lying before him.

Harry got up and ran into the library. Snape could not hurt Damien, the elves were watching him. But he could do worse once out of here. Harry had to know who he was talking to.

Harry had never felt so scarred. Because for the first time it wasn't his life that was at risk. His hands were trembling, and if it wasn't for his nerves, he would have collapsed on the floor. But fear, fear kept him up.

Twenty minutes later, he was waiting for Snape down the stairs.

Snape has seen a lot of things, but that was... a surprise. To be true with himself, he was at shock.

But everything seemed to be different from what he believed about the young Mr. Potter. Snape had been stunned to learn that he had lived with the Dursleys at Petunia's. How was it possible? Dumbledore had assured him that he was brought up in a family of white magic, who pampered him like the young hero he was.

And then the news came out in the newspapers. Snape had been furious at Dumbledore for lying to him, but it did not make a difference. Albus had assured him that it was what Lily and James wanted, even tho Snape didn't give a slight care about what James could have wanted. Petunia was perhaps an atrocious, embittered and jealous woman, but it was a child, a little boy under the age of eleven with a doll's face, with big green eyes devouring his face, always a small smile, always that expression of ainnocent amusement on that face which resembled so much that of his father. A rich child, who now had a manor of his own at eleven. That would probably be adopted by one of the richest pure-blooded families, who had his future all traced ...

Really?

What Snape had before him was something else.

The boy had accompanied him into a drawing-room. Snape had sat down in one of the armchairs, back to the bay window which led to the gardens which were softly covered with a white down. An old clock resounded in the immense silent mansion. A weight struck the whole building. Severus had the impression that the place was going to crush him. Or maybe it was the look of the child, comfortably leaning against the fireplace in front of him.

The boy had folded his arms nonchalantly on his chest, his black strands falling on his shoulders, wand in hand in case of danger, popped towards the ceiling as if Snape did not deserve that he warned. The professor wondered what gave the boy the mere idea that he could beat him.

His eyes.

The first time he had seen them, they had horribly reminded her of Lily's. But no, that was not it. A distant resemblance, the same color ... but the child's eyes shone like death. Snape had already noticed it, but thought it was all in his head. Bad memories, fears he was plating on the child.

But now that Harry was staring at him, alone, in the dim light, he was certain.

His face too. He does not resemble that of his father. It does not resemble James. A vague family air, perhaps. No, Harry was cold, fixed. His innocent air had vanished, or rather had been horribly disguised. He had a crease in the corner of his mouth that Severus had already seen in what seemed like another life. An expression of someone who has seen hell and brought a bit of it with him. It stuck so little, it was so false on this face that should have been so peaceful, only wrinkled by a few sorrows, small anger, hassle quikly forgotten.

He should not have had those red circles around his eyes. He should not have...

Snape was an observant man. He had seen how Harry always put on high collars, or a scarf. He had imagined that it was a whim, in the same way as many teenagers before him, perhaps even earlier, but finally, spoiled as it must have been ...

Harry did not seem to realize that he had lost his scarf. Snape could clearly see scars running along his neck, and even ... burns? How had this damn boy got so hurt?

Severus was beginning to make a list of everything that should not have been there and yet was. The boy was an accomplished occlumen, and a legilimens no doubt, even though Snape had absolutely no idea how he had gained these skills. He knew spells that were only learned in the third or fourth year, and he was sure that this was only what Harry allowed himself to show. The boy was stuffing power. Control.

Snape had heard the rumors of the child as the next Dark Lord. Everyone had heard them, so much so that the headmaster had held a small meeting in his office about it.

\- "I'm sure you've heard the rumors." The headmaster had said with his usual sparkling blue eyes.

Snape hated when Dumbledor did that. No one was able to know what he was thinking (had anyone ever been?), and he would only express himself by riddles, which led to nothing but sow even more trouble and confusion, and give him a migraine. At least, for once, he had not called him my boy.

Minerva had acquiesced gravely.

"I do not understand the rumors, Albus." "Of course, Mr. Potter is very talented, and undoubtedly in Slytherin, but he's far from being bad, quite the opposite. Sorcerers, and it is now known that he has placed under his protection the young Miss Granger ... "she finishes her sentence with a smile heard. "He even opposed the other Slytherins, claiming his Muggle side!"

"Tha- that's tr-tr-true, P-p-professor." Quirell continued. "He is an e-exalted pupil, sw-sweet as a lamb."

Snape did not like Quirell. He was suspicious. He had the feeling that all this shyness was ... false. To tell the truth, it was certain that man wanted the stone.

Dumbledore raised his hands to stop the protests that were entangled in each other, creating an unbearable hubbub.

"Come on, I do not question the innocence of the young Mr. Potter, especially about something as frightening as impossible, I just want to have your opinion on the boy, to know how these rumors were able to propagate..."

He turned to Severus, who had to take it upon himself to avoid rolling his eyes when he added, "What do you think, Severus, my boy?"

"Well, I can not say that the boy is dangerous, he is neither superiorly intelligent, nor superiorly gifted, just average, I have never seen him violently move towards one of his comrades, And as far as I know he would have been infatuated with Mademoiselle Granger, but I have to admit ... he has potential, a lot. But not as a black mage. Sometimes I even wonder if he should not be in Gryffindor."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes sparkling as usual.

"Even if Professor Snape was able to make a compliment to the young Mr. Potter, I do not see why we should be worried, and you know that I'm watching him closely. I would ask you to pay attention to what his little comrades say about him and to bring him back to him, and I do not want him to feel crushed and to make his condition worse."

At the tone of his voice, one would have thought that Dumbledore presented the weather.

"What do you mean, Albus? Is he ill?"

Albus shook his head slowly, like he was denying a candy to some troubling child.

"No, no, Minerva, don't worry. He just need to adapt to the wizarding world, I believe."

After reassuring the professors, he dismissed them.-

And now, Severus wasn't so sure about anything. Because the boy was rising an eyebrow in a way that was too very familiar to the man, with an expression that he though he would never see again...

For the first time in years, Severus Snape allowed himself to be afraid.

Harry was watching the teacher. Hell, it was like watching a wall. Nothing stirred, nothing betrayed the slightest thought, yet Harry was sure he was boiling inside.

He did not know which question to ask first. He had to be sure that Snape would not run away with all the information, but he had to be sure Damien would be fine.

At the mere thought of the boy's face covered with black veins, Harry felt faint.

To mask his weakness, he sat as quietly as he could on the blanket facing Snape. It was Damien's, and realizing it, Harry nearly got up at once. Instead, he straightened up to look at the professor in the eye.

"What is your diagnosis?"

There was a silence, a long silence. A silence in which every one of the two occupants of the room calculated all the possibilities, a cold, entire silence in which time resounded.

"Obscurial." Snape finally released. His eyes onyx shone in the pale gleam of the moon. Harry had not thought of lighting candles, and nothing illuminated the room except for the star and the hearth.

The boy tilted his head to the side, bird watching his prey. He did not like the tone on which Snape had spoken the word. He did not like the word. Each syllable sounded lugubriously in the darkness, in the room, in his bones, bumping against his thoughts, pressing against his heart.

"An obscurial person is a person who has devolved an obscurus, a child who has been forced to repress his magical gifts, his magic ... stacks up, forming an obscurus, becoming almost autonomous and growing A cancer, and after a while she takes control of the host and becomes aggressive before destroying it, as we have seen. "

"Dark matter is therefore his magic."

Snape nodded. The tone of the child could have cut concrete. How could a child express himself thus?

"It is rare that the obscurial exceeds the age of ten years, this one is an exeption, visibly."

Snape watched as the child grew pale a little more, if possible.

"He needs to see a doctor."

Haryr closed his eyes for a moment, blocking all unwanted thoughts. He had to concentrate, he had to do everything he could to keep Damien safe.

"So there is a treatment."

"No."

Harry abruptly opened his eyes and stared at the man in front of him. He himself could not say what he felt.

"So going to see a doctor is useless."

Harry paused for a moment.A scream was stuck in his throat. He had to stay, he had to stand straight, he had to watch over his brother.

Snape shook his head. "This boy will not exceed twenty years, at best."

Harry felt something crackle in him. Deep. He had not noticed that he had stopped breathing, for how long? It does not matter. He was in pain.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. It was an explosion. All his bones protested, all his muscles tightened, his skin burned, and he stepped away from a gun that someone had dared to pose against his skin.

He did not see the face of the potion professor decompose. He did not see the look he had on his neck now in the open air. He did not see the shock of the hesitant hand, which had been intended to be comforting. He did not see the pain in the two black stones, regret, fear.

His legs wore him without knowing how or where. He no longer felt them. Only the whipping of the cold winters night on his face told him he was running. There were too many things. Too much on his heart. Too much in his mind, too much rage running in his muscles, making his blood roar, boiling his magic. The world was only a gray cloud around him, and he was running. And while he was running, he was hurting, oh, so badly, but he had forgotten why.

Was it Vernon who ran after him? Yes, it must have been that. He almost felt his huge hand catch him by the hair. Will do something, monster! You think you can be lazy when I've offered you a roof? As I tolerate your abnormality in my house? And the smell of whiskey. And the hand that got up and hit him right on the jaw, seeing his head hitting the wall. And the sound of the girdle that he was taking away. And the sound of the belt whipping the air before whipping the back. And the next day's look of the little boy next to him, the little boy who had only one eye but who was crying as much as he held his ribs. That little thing Harry had sworn to protect. He had failed. He had arrived too late, he had decided too late. It would have been just a phone call, but he was too proud for that. He did not want to talk. He did not want us to see the marks, to ask questions, to know how weak he was, how wretched he was, a trash, really, who had nothing to do on this earth.

Harry remembered why he was running. He remembered why he was in pain.

He fell on his knees in the snow. He did not feel the cold. Flakes fell softly on his trembling shoulders and melted, leaving drops of frozen water running down his neck.

There was nothing in front of him but an ocean of white. Immaculate, pure, empty. Dead, cold, all around, and the darkness of the night, the sky, the lid that closed over his head, pierced by mocking stars.

But Harry was boiling. He trembled, his arms clenched in front of his face as if to hold back something, something that had already escaped him. All the serene beauty which characterized him had left his features, deformed, his mouth panting. Her hair fell into damp locks before her eyes. Harry knocked on the floor. His little fists were striking the earth to bleed. Drops of blood fell and dirtied the snow with life, rage, red.

Something unlocked in him. Something at that time allowed him to be an eleven-year-old child, a broken, sad child who had the right to weep. And he wept. And he screamed in the wind, against life, against men, against that fucking destiny which wanted all that he approached to be wounded, which hurt him.

His voice resonated against the snow. A shrill voice, a child's voice in a cries that should have belonged to only one man. He became a little human ball, curled up against the ground, trembling.

He howled, and the wind answered him, murmuring, blowing against his face, sending his hatred to the world. He felt his voice break, but he did not stop. Sounds of cries, intermingled with tears, continued to resound in the darkness.

He finally stopped, panting. The cold air scraped his throat and filled his lungs, giving them a new life.

He was tired, so tired.

He closed his eyes, his eyelids burning and irritated. He struggled to regain control of his breathing. Regain control of his heartbeats. He concentrated. He felt the magic flowing in him like molten metal. He imagined the snow around him. The cold, the calm.

He felt something touching his hand, reddened by the cold and the ematomes. A callous, warm hand had rested on his.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Snape sitting beside him in the snow. He looked at him, his features imperturbable. Harry scarcely distinguished him in the dark. The professor tried to put an arm around his waist to help him get up, but Harry immediately felt a step back. They remained there for a long time, the snow falling on their shoulders, melting them little by little in the landscape, their breath forming a small cloud around them. Snape did not move his hand, and none of them tried to read the other's thoughts through the bond. There was too much to say, too much to think about.

A small voice rang out behind them.

"Ha..Harry?"


	11. Chapter 10

Hey! A new chater! I'm sorry if it look like ther isn't space, but it doesn't want to add some... I don't know I think its a bug, and I'll fix it as soon as I can! I add lines for the gig separation int the meantime.

Chap 10:

The voice had echoed in silence as a reminder to the world. Two pairs of eyes had fixed on his provenance, with a similar expression.

And then, slowly, Harry got up. He reactivated all his muscles, felt again his whole body. He felt the burn on his forehead, the pain in his knees, in his hands.

Snape watched him stand up, as he would have watched a ghost parted from his body. But Harry was not paying him any attention.

No, Harry's mind was immediately fixed on the little girl who was standing in front of him, shivering, wrapped in a scarf much too big for her, trying to mask the anxiety that gnawed at her.

Harry wanted to smile at her, to reassure her, but he could not. Night still surrounded them, the stars still staring at him, and his heart was still dying. He could see the bruise on the little girl's cheek. A blue spot, a simple little blue spot that meant so much. A small blue spot that spoiled these adorable spots of redness, which gave a sad look to these large eyes.

Harry trembled, but he was sure nobody could see him. He held out his bloody hand to the little one. There was something going on between them, a sort of agreement, recognition. A pact which witnessed the dark form of the professor and the red spots on the ground, which had as its judge the wind and the emptiness. It was so dark that Harry should not have distinguished the little girl, but her form stood out on the white mantle.

Hot little fingers snuggled in his hand. Harry held them firmly, ignoring the blood flowing over the child's hands.

Without a word, he turned and went back to the manor, taking the little one with him. He was more or less conscious that a dark form always followed them; but he would deal with it later.

They passed through the village in silence, until Mia shook her hand. He turned as the little girl pointed to a door. The street around them was deserted. The boy watched the door for a moment, then continued to the manor. He could not do anything for now.

His own mansion looks lugubrious at night, until the door opens on the little elf, with his big worried eyes and disproportionate ears floating at every head movement. The golden light of the leaves of the two trees deposited points of light on the snow in front of the entrance.

Harry did not understand how these trees kept on living when his brother was dying. He took a deep breath and entered the manor, taking the little girl behind him.

The door closed and cut off the cold air.

"Gladis, take this child to one of the rooms, and make sure she sleeps the rest of the night. Come and find me immediately when Damien wakes up."

His voice was broken, hoarse. When the elf disappeared with the child, Harry collapsed on the floor.

Severus saw the child fall, and did not move. He did not know what to do. He could not touch him. He could not leave it. He did not know how to comfort him. The child now holds his hands on his eyes, chanting his magnificent, terrible jades, which reminded everyone that he should have died a long time ago in his baby bed, and never know all this pain. Those eyes which were those of Lily, but those of the woman he had known, no, those whom she had fixed for ever to heaven, dead, terrible.

Harry remained for a long time on the ground at the foot of the stairs, lying between the two trees whose leaves fell on his raven hair, and all around him, forming a bed all around his distorted and trembling body.

How did he get there? How did the world let this happen?

But he was calm now. Fatality had become incrusted in his bones, in his flesh. He could no longer do anything to prevent the world from falling upon the thing which was most precious to him.

Then Harry regained consciousness of the man who was watching him. Damn, he did not even take his wand. He kept on laughing. Because he had been stupid. Stupid to believe he could save his brother, stupid to believe that things were going to be arranged, stupid to have brought to the only sure place that he knew the only man whose mind he could not read , Stupid not to have taken what is defending himself, stupid to have cracked before him, to have shown what was in him. He felt the trembling of his sobs transform a little laugh. There was nothing joyful about that laugh. There was nothing of the child he could have been. Something had been taken away from him, gently, over the years, something whose void was heard in the silence of the manor. Oh, he'd been stupid ...

He was exhausted, just exhausted. Exhausted to live.

But he no longer had time to pander to his fate. Slowly, he got up and snapped Snape into the same room he had left a little earlier. It was three in the morning.

The professor sat down in one of the sofas, watching Harry. He was used to situations of crisis, years surrounded by Death Eaters had ensured, but he did not expect that. Where had the unbearable, rich, spoiled kid been, that little lion who had had the misfortune to set foot in his snake's pit? He saw in front of him only a phantom of that being.

Harry also watched Snape. Or rather, he reflected on the various means he could have to make the professor disappear.

"To whom are you loyal?"

The question exploded like a shot in the middle of a concert. Snape looked at the child without understanding. Then he saw that his gaze remained fixed on his mark which he had not yet covered. With a quick movement he lowered his sleeve.

"Why?"

Harry sighed. He did not have the patience to turn around, or even to answer silly questions.

"Because you are a Death Eater who works for Dumbledore, who is a professor at Hogwarts, who was denounced as a servant of the Dark Lord, then as spy of The Order

of the will understand that the information about you is somewhat contradictory."

Snape was lost. What did all this have to do with the present situation? How could Harry go from a broken child to an interrogator in just a few minutes? He had not expected to have to answer these questions again. All this belonged to the past, it was behind him. He had accepted Dumbledore's offer, he had become a professor to avoid Azkaban. A gilded prison, and his life would continue forever.

No, the professor realized that he was wrong. The child's hands were always open, the blood drying slowly. His breath was still trembling. There was an urgency, something pressing behind the question. He had already heard that, he had already seen that. The specter of war hovered behind the child. Harry was already engulfed, alone, in something that Snape could not define.

"Professor." The face of the child had softened in a certain way. He had approached Snape, hardly overhanging him. Snape suddenly realized how small and thin he was, even for his age. "Professor, I need you to swear to me not to tell anyone to anyone, not to Dumbledore, not to your friends, not to anyone to whom you have been able to swear allegiance." If you do not, I can not let you get out of here. "

Severus' heart froze as the ticking of the clock resounded in his head. He understood. He finally understood. Harry looked at him, compassion filling his features. How could this child have compassion for him?

"I promise."

"It's not enough."

Snape looked at him with shock. He could distinctly feel the magic emanating from the little dark form which was cut out on the flames of the chimney. "I do not trust spies." Added the child gently. "Swear."

It was not even an offer. It was no longer a question. Hardly a supplication. Harry could no longer embrace questions, doubts. He would remain with his brother all the years he had available. No one would stop him, nobody would put him in danger. And Harry knew one thing. He had discovered it that night.

He could not do that alone.

Harry held his blood-stained hand to Severus. The professor caught her in his, gently.

"Me, Severus Tobias Snape, swear on my magic never to betray my word to Harry James Potter about the events of this night, or any information that could flow from it."

The air froze for a moment as magic formed the oath's knot. Harry left his hand for a moment between Snape's, then pulled it away. He had a migraine. He watched the clock, which continued to resonate, gnawing the seconds.

"You should go back to Hogwarts, Professor. If my memory is good you'll be running in the early hours tomorrow." "Elf!"

A small creature appeared and grabbed Snape's hand, teleporting it to Hogwarts before he had time to say a word.

Harry knew he should not have sent Snape back in this way, but he did not have the patience to bear anything. He no longer had the strength, He mounted the stairs silent as death, and sat on the edge of the bed. Damien was lying there, his face peaceful, white, so white, his hair in battle hiding his eyes. Harry put the locks in place with a trembling hand, then took the one of his brother, delicately. He was afraid of breaking these thin and fragile fingers.

Under the rays of the moon, scars could not be seen. He looked normal, drowsy, a child among so many others. He could have been a poet, he could have been a great wizard, maybe a professor, who knows? But he was there, unconscious.

Harry put his head on the boy's torque. He needed to hear his heart beat, to feel the toracic cage rising, lowering, feeling the warmth of a living body.

He stayed there until dawn. Maybe he was asleep, maybe he had fixed the wall for several hours. It seemed to him that if he moved an inch, life would escape from this little body, spinning between his fingers. He did not notice the comings and goings of Gladis, who watched the two boys with tears in his big eyes, or even that Mia had sat down and slumbered in an armchair behind him.

The pale rays of the winter sun finally filtered through the window, caressing the intertwined hands of the two boys, then Harry's black raven hair before coming to hit his eyes. Under this light their green seemed to dilute to a bright and luminous jade.

The world had returned to life to awoke the children.

Reluctantly, Harry finally got up. He seemed to leave a part of him on this bed. He stretched, rolled his muscles, coated as much as he could his untaimeable hair. Mia watched him move, motionless.

"Take care of him," Harry said with a sad smile. "I'll come back tomorrow, if you need something, ask the elves." She nodded and he got ready to go out, when something came back to him? . " Your mother?" He asked.

"I'll get by." Said she, proudly raising her chin.

Harry approached her and gently passed a finger over her cheek, wrapping the mark that had become blackish during the night.

He nodded with contentment, put his clothes in order as much as he could, and ordered Gladis to make him reappear at the castle. This little girl was brave, more than most people he'd met. She could do it.

* * *

Harry managed to catch up with Draco in front of the transfiguration class. The boy looked at him suspiciously but did not ask any questions.

His hands had already healed.

Harry sat down at his usual table near one of the windows. It was always the same weather gray, snowy outside. A few flakes fell softly here and there, dressing the whole castle of a majestic white cloak.

There was anger in Harry. All his sadness had dissipated in the night, no, had frozen in a cold will. A small trampled flake turning into a cutting gel. It swirled in him. It tapped against the parishes to go out, it sticking against his skin. A small layer of death. A thin patch of gel against the glass, which extended, cracking it.

But there was something else. Something he didn't know. Something was singing in him, singing in his veins. Something sweet, sad, something of a promise. Something in the corner of his eye that waited wisely, as patient as those little drops that fell, as sure to touch the ground.

Harry jumped slightly. The glass had frozen from the inside. Draco, sitting next to him, had put on his scarf and was shivering. Harry swore softly and cast a discreet spell to warm the room, concentrating to control his magic.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up at McGonagall. He must have looked very pitiful, because his expression was softened immediately. Harry knew that there was no point in feigning indifference, the marks of the night were probably still on his face.

He was astonished himself to be able to pretend, to reflect on his expression, to sit on this seat to listen to a useless course he had already mastered months before, to go back to class, Live when the world should have stopped spinning. Deep down, he hated himself for that. Deep down, he hated himself for so many things... And yet...

Yet he was _cold_.

He could catch the teacher by the hair. Jump over the table, grab his head and explode his forehead against the table. One, two, three times. Blood reverted to the desk. Gicles would reach the faces of the pupils of the first rank, who would scream, and he would continue to strike. It was useless. That would be good, to see the innocence leave their eyes. The shock enlarge their pupils, open their mouths in an expression of witch. And he, who would continue to strike. He would not take pleasure in it, no, but something would make him lighter. And finally, out of breath, he would sit in the seat behind the desk, while the corpse would collapse on the floor. Maybe he wouldn't even have the enery to scream.

But it would not help. It would not change anything. It would only make one more corpse on the ground and on his conscience.

"Mr. Potter." Renew Mcgonagall "Can you please give us a demonstration and try to change this rat into a goblet?"

Harry executed himself, delighted to have an outlet for his magic. He murmured the spell by making a movement with his wand. He concentrated on the little rat, sending his will on him through the spell, cutting off his energies, shaping the force that emanated from the animal. The heart of the little creature resonated in concert with his. They had the same veins, the same eyes, the same life. But Harry had magic. No, Harry had the will. An iron will. A will that enclosed the rat and ordered: change. Who said to him, "You are a goblet." Who said to the world: "I want, and so it is".

The rat squealed and then changed. His skin expanded, hardened, his skull twisted, he took first the shape of the foot, then of the cup, which was finely chiselled. Small metal snakes ran to the right places, creating arabesques on the edges of the silver goblet. With a little metallic noise, it was finished.

She looked at him with round eyes, and murmurs spread in the room.

"This is a perfectly accomplished transfiguration, and I must say, to perfection for a professor." Congratulations, Mr. Potter, your talents in this matter are really impressive! Twenty points for Slytherin. " She said, masking her trouble very well.

 _How can he have such a level from the first lesson, at his age! And raised by Muggles! I'll have to talk to Dumbledore, this child could very well reach the power of the headmaster by the time his magic stabilizes ..._

Harry shook his head. At another moment he would have been flattered and annoyed. But now he did not care. He just wanted to get out of the room and run to the dungeons, bring Snape to Damien, take care of his brother. Find a way to save him. Get out of here. Get out of here. Get out of here.

He squeezed a relieved smile on his face, and Mcgonagall looked at him with obvious sympathy, of which Harry had nothing to do. Some Slytherins applauded, or smiled broadly. Draco raised his head of pride, and he felt the half-smile of Daphne and Blaise sitting behind them. In a way, he felt a little better. And then the frightful weight of the pendulum fell again on his shoulders. He did not have time to feel better.

He did not have time ...

The different pupils returned to work, with more or less attention, for the same pitiful results. Harry did not look at them, he had gone back to daydreaming in the window, or rather trying to prevent his magic from spilling out of the middle of the course. He had to use it.

He saw that Draco was still struggling with a somewhat deformed rat, but he stubbornly remained a rat. The two boys exchanged a glance, and with a discreet bagette movement, Harry turned the rat, this time into a simple goblet, barely polished. More complexity would have attracted suspicion.

Harry sighed. The world was still was horrible, it was cruel. But in one way or another, he would turn with it.

He felt weak. He knew that the only reason he did not collapse was that he was working on his nerves. But that would not last long.

For a moment he remembered the state in which Voldemort was. He wanted to laugh, and a feeling of pure admiration rose in him. Hell, so much will, concentrated in one being, that was admirable. How did he go about living under these conditions? How horribly desesperate one must be...

But, looking into himslef, Harry realized that he too wanted to live, deseperatly. Something was still hanging him here, something tenacious. He could do something. He had to do something.

And his magic crystallized around this single thought. Carry on.

Harry spent the rest of his day in the same state, his thoughts turning in his head. He watched axiomically all the dark corners, expecting at any moment to see Gladis appear and make a sign to him, but nothing came. His small luster in Macgonagall's class earned him the congratulations of all the first-year Slytherins he could meet. He thanked everyone with a big smile, a handshake, a few polite comments, re-echoing in one corner of his head all the information he was grabbing.

Damien still did not wake up. Harry could not afford to leave the castle many times in a row without result, even using the house elves he would eventually grab the attention of Dumbledore, which was the thing he wanted to avoid at all costs.

It was only in the late afternoon that he saw a pair of pointed ears protruding behind one of the pillars of the corridor.

* * *

Snape knew perfectly well that Potter was going to come back and find him. The professor had not slept the night, and had already prepared all the necessary potions for the other child, whose names he still did not know. Many questions were turning in his head, but he had been trained in that, and accustomed to never having all the answers. But one of them tapped him a lot more than the others.

 _Professor, swear that you will not tell any of this to Dumbledore or any other person to whom you swore allegiance._

Snape was not a person who was easily afraid. He was not coward, far from it. Mas this sentence, this simple phrase resounded lugubriously in him and sent chills along his spine.

Whatever, Potter was the only person who could answer his questions. For years he had been a slave to Voldemort, oh he had certainly admired the man, but a servant remained a servant. He had paid the high price, and then he had become the servant of Dumbledore, his captive. He knew that the old man had wanted to do well, or rather wanted to arrange things to the maximum according to his morality, which he obviously concurred as universal, but he was angry with him. An anger slow, thin, but tenacious.

Potter might be his way out.

And then there was something else. When he had seen these children, three now, wounded, bruised, something in him had asked him to protect them. It was his role, as an adult, as a teacher, but also as the only person familiar with the situation, who already had such a great debt to one of these child.

The professor shook his head, and black locks of black hair, rendered fat by the vapors of spotion he prepared every day, fell before his eyes. An obscurial one. He had never seen it before, and hoped I'd ever have to be confronted with any of them. Especially as the boy had passed the tenth years ... his power would only increase. Obscurials were supposed to have disappeared! This kind of thing was not supposed to happen ... Since Grindelwald, the ministry had taken measures ...

And what about Potter, who had thrown himself into the cloud of black magic without any hesitation? How long did it last?

Frustrated and worried, the teacher rose to pass behind his pupils - sixth years of which he wondered how they could have arrived there. Hell, but only two of them had succeeded in giving an almost successful potion!

Snape was hard on his students for three reasons: potions deserved better than that, he hated teenagers, and he knew that if they ever needed a potion to save their miserable life, the slightest mistake would be fatal . But these children had no idea of what could be beyond their pretty castle ... except a few. Some still bore the marks of war.

The bell finally rang, and the students rushed to put a sample of their potion in the appropriate vials on his desk before going out of the room. Snape sat down with a sigh, at least his lessons of the day were over. And to his colleagues, he had found the perfect means of not inflicting hundreds of mediocre copies on the same subject: practical work.

He began to note the different vials that were on his desk, and was not surprised when he heard the door of his room locked itself.

He looked up to see the young Potter, accompanied by his house elf (who looked suspiciously at Snape), standing in front of the door now closed, arms folded.

The child's gaze was cold. The dark circles around his eyes only made them stand out and made him look more sickly. God, what had happened to her son...

It was only when he noticed the little cloud of mist forming above him that Snape realized that the temperature of the room had dropped by several degrees. By reflex, he wanted to see in the mind of the child if he had done it voluntarily, but was again confronted with ... a void. The occlumens, to protect their minds, formed walls around their thoughts and sometimes voluntarily let some escape, but Potter ... his ideas, his memories were all there, within range, but they were fleeing. Snape attempted to search every time he thought he saw something, but the image faded away in favor of his own thoughts, and he found himself alone in the abyss of this foreign spirit.

"You have finished?"

Harry looked at him as if he had caught a child in the act of being stupid, an eyebrow rising from boredom.

Snape did not bother to answer. Potter usually did not show as much insolence, and he put it on the account of the crisis situation. After all, who knows how long the boy had not slept? He went into the little room at the back of his potions lab. The reserve, the most convoyed and best kept place of the dungeons.

The room was small and cluttered with shelves, themselves cluttered with hundreds of different ingredients. Although it was felt that the person holding the room had a sense of impeccable order, the room was stuffy and full of nooks, crumbs, dust. There were plants, claws, bags, things more or less alive. Snape immediately went to the heap of potions he had already prepared and carefully packed them into his bag.

He heard a little tinkling and turned around with vivacity.

"Potter, do not touch ..."

He stopped as he saw the boy put a small vial of silver liquid on one of the shelves.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

The boy gave him an amused look despite his fatigue.

"Let's say it's a small reward for your services, Muggles are calling it overtime, you see, they have to be paid." He stopped for a moment, then stared at him with an inwardness that took the breath away from the professor. "I do not like to have debts, Professor Snape." He let out a cold voice.

Severus nodded. Blood of unicorn. But where did a first-year find unicorn blood? One moment, the idea that Harry went to kill one of these animals to save the other boy crossed his mind, but no, he would not have given it if that was the case. And Potter was... way to smart to do something that deseperate.

The room was cooler than before. And Harry'eyes weren't as soft as they used to be.

 _He's loosing control!_

Without more politeness, the boy grabbed him by the arm and ordered his elf to make them apparate to the manor.

Harry ran almost to the first floor. His heart would accelerate, he was afraid, yes afraid, to discover only a corpse when he opened the door. He stopped for a moment on the landing, sighed, then pushed the door slowly, Snape on his heels.

He could not let himself be destroyed. He had no right to do so. He was not the one who was ill; his only duty was to protect Damien.

Damien was sitting on his bed, his back resting on many cushions. He was talking in a low voice with Mia, a little smile on his lips. The setting sun gave red hair to his hair and made his gray eye shine, warming the room. Mia had brought back the chair on which she slept the night before on the edge of the bed, listening patiently to what Damien was telling her.

It was peaceful.

They both stopped talking and turned to Harry with a big smile, which disappeared as soon as they saw Snape's shadow behind him. Harry raised his hands as a sign of appeasement, and Damien put away the little knife that immediately appeared in his hand.

"Damien, Mia, let me introduce you to Professor Severus Snape. He came to help us."

The tention of the room dropped a little.

Harry had blocked all his emotions, but his brother saw his features drawn, his eyes circled, his hair even more ruffled than usual.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his brother's forehead, reflex more than anything else, while Snape took the spotions out of his bag and placed them on the desk under the window a little further.

With a little laugh, Damien withdrew his hand from his forehead.

"Good to meet you, Professor. I guess you helped me in the little incident yesterday?" He said softly.

Snape nodded without turning around, his face as impenetrable as usual. Damien looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged, then grabbed his hand.

 _He's a former Death Eater. He has taken a vow, he will not speak about yesterday. The best healer I could find._

Damien opted discreetly and Harry withdrew his mind, although he left his hand on the other boy's. Just in case. "Gladis!"

At the call of his master, the little being appeared.

"Bring us some hot chocolates and something to eat, and ... Professor, do you want something?"

"Coffee, please."

Harry gestured with his hand and Gladis disappeared, returning a few moments later with a tray.

"Master Potter?"

"Yes?"

Harry could see tears in the eyes of the elf. He frowned.

"Is Master Damien going to get better?"

"Yes, Gladis, do not worry. Go now."

The boy's eyes lost for a moment, he did not see the look Snape gave to him. Once Gladis had gone, he turned to Damien, who wore an innocent smile. He knew.

"Now, dear brother, I want an explanation in detail of what happened." He said in a falsely joyful voice. Mia's lips tightened to form a thin line.

"You can read it in the head ..."

"I want to hear it from your mouth." It was an order that did not bother about discussion. Of course Harry could read everything that had happened in his brother's mind, but he was afraid to touch him with his magic. Talking through their ties was much less burdensome to him than to be searched. And in his state, Harry was pretty sure that he would hurt him, that he would cause damage, even if he could not confess it in front of Snape and Mia. But Damien understood. He knew what Harry could do with his mind, and he sure wasn't willing to try it on himself.

"Yes, mom." He sight sarcasticly, before returnong to serious. " As I tolf you in my letter I was worried because Mia wasn't answering the phone, or contacting us in any way.

I had a bad feeling. We both had a hard time talking about these things. Anyway, I went to see her. I think I was very afraid of what I was going to see. I hid myself from a window like you did for me, and there ... "

Damiens' fingers creeped on his brother's hand, who had to resist with all his strength not to send him a wave of magic to comfort him, not knowing if it would have a postive or negative impact on him.

"She hit me." Mia interrupted in a harsh voice.

Harry looked at her, surprised. She defied her gaze, defying him to say that she was weak, that she was wrong, that she was a victim. She had a spark in her eyes that made Harry laugh, with a tender laugh. He saw the same in the single eye of Damien. Pride.

He asked Damien to continue with a look.

"I did not know what to do ... and I felt ... like the last time. I do not remember much after that, except you ran to me and did everything for ... for. .. that it does not touch you ... "

Harry smiled at him with compassion. He had blocked all other emotions deep within himself. It was not up to him to be angry, he only had to act so that it would not happen again. Never again. Oh he could let his anger explode, let his magic unwind the room, scare poor Mia, desperate Damien, but for what? No, he had to remain master of himself, and he had to think. It was like that, and only that way they got away with it so far.

"I see." He said calmly, a slight trembling in his voice, almost imperceptible, betraying his emotions. "Mia, can you please go out? I think Professor Snape is going to want to look at Damien." He said, observing the dark, silent silhouette that had stood in a corner of the room, watching them closely, sipping his coffee.

Mia stood up, bowed and went out.

"I'm going to have to explain why everyone is bowing like that ..." Harry sighed, ignoring Snape, who had squinted at the little girl's gesture.

"Because you deserve it, dear brother!" Damien laughed.

Haryr rolled his eyes and stood up, giving Snape room, but watching the teacher's slightest gesture with suspicion. For all he knew, Snape was a traitor, one way or another. And Harry detested the traitors. But he knew there was something else. Nothing was so simple, so he looked, standing beside the bed. And then he could learn. It was the first time he saw a real healer in action.

He wondered if he was good at the time.

 _He was, and still is_ , whistled a familiar voice in the back of his skull.

 _Oh, it's been a long time._

Despite the sarcasm, he watched Snape more closely. That the Dark Lord finds someone useful is one thing, but having earned his respect, deserves all his attention.

Harry did not really distrust the voice. Something, his instinct, told him it was not Voldemort, not the one who lived in Quirell. It was the same magic, the same being, but yet different. If the voice could communicate with what Harry called the trunk, Voldemort would have already eliminated him. No in a strange, twisted way it was and wasn't him, and he didn't had time to solve this riddle right now.

So he watched Snape carefully look over each scar once again, checking the eye, the bones, whispering things for himself.

It was facsimile. Even Harry could see that the man was really good at it. The last bruises were reabsorbed, the last cuts disappeared. Then the professor got up, his robes swirling around him (but how did he do that? Did he have a spell that was always ready to move his robes and then make them fall perfectly?), And brought Flasks that he had released a little earlier.

"This is to counter the pain." He said, raising a bluish potion. "Drink twice a day for a week, then when necessary, not to take a sip at each intake." This one, "he now lifted a flask filled with a transparent liquid that radiated in the last rays of the Evening, "is a calming potion, you have to take it when you feel an emotion too much that could trigger a crisis. Then he took out a last vial, much smaller, of a dark red. And this is to be taken if the crisis is already triggered, but ... It will stop the crisis, but it will provoke a very great pain, and you must drink the whole flask."

Snape had spoken of his eternal cold and contemptuous voice, but his gestures were calm and sure. Damien nodded.

That was the moment. The moment that lifted Harry's heart. He did not want, oh god, oh Merlin, he did not want to, but he had to tell him.

That made everything true, too true. It was a sentence, which he was about to utter, a sentence on an innocent man. If at least it had been read! He had killed, he had wounded, he deserved it in a certain way, or at least he could have understood it. But Damien ...

He had no right to lack courage, not now. Then he put a mask on his face, and sat down on the other side of the bed. He felt his mouth move, he heard his voice say these things, these horrible things. He felt dirty. He felt different. His voice was calm, soft, and he saw the sweetness in his own eyes as he took Damien's hand in a futile, absurd gest.

Damien's smile brought him back to reality. The boy had locked his eye in Harry's, and this reversal shocked the boy.

"It's okay, Harry." Murmured Damien.

He did not look sad. He looked melancholy. Happy. The air of a Sunday afternoon, the air he had always sported since they were brought here. The air of someone on whom life slips like the wind on a mountain.

Harry smiled. He'd been silly, of course it would, everything would be fine. They would find a solution.

"On the other hand, I think we will be able to cancel my reservation at the retirement home ..."

Harry burst out laughing, quickly followed by Damien. Snape looked at them as if he had pushed them a second head, and they had trouble getting serious again. Then Damien glanced at the door.

"You should go see what Mia is doing, knowing the little one, she's already trying to grind at one of the trees ..."

They heard something fall, followed by a curse worthy of the greatest drunks.

Harry stood to see, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he came out, the smile faded from Damien's lips. He turned his only eye toward Snape.

"Professor, I know that what I'm going to say to you will seem ungrateful to you after what you've just done, but know that I'm really good, but neither I nor my brother know your intentions. And please, don't try to look into my mind. He did towards you a great gesture of confidence in bringing you here, choosing you when he could be the weakest, taking you to his home, asking for your help and then bringing you back, which means he is trying to put trust in you. Whatever you want to do, whatever your purpose or how you do it (I know you do not like him), whatever it may be happens: Do. Never. Betray. Him."

Snape could not say whether the child before him threatened, or warned him, or gave him advice. He could not say how much force could be released from a dying child. He could not tell if the brilliance he saw in that one eye was amusement, anger, fear, wisdom. He could not say why these words touched him so much. He could not say how this child had survived until then, how Harry had survived until then, and why he even worried about it, why he felt the strange need to do something. He could not say if it was wrong or right, who it would please or upset. But only one thing fell from his lips, something real, that he did not know that he was thinking before uttering it:

"I won't."


	12. Chapter 11

Hello! Here's a new chapter! A beta is currently fixing the old ones, so things should improve on that side.

I once again thank you the review, fav and follow! It's really encouraging to write to know that people are following what I'm doing.

Sorry for the delay, but I try to correct my chapters more, and find people to do it took a little while. However, be aware that I already have several unpublished chapters ahead, so there should not be too much delay afterwards.

I hope you will enjoy your reading!

Warning: Violence, abuse, ...

Chap 11:

Harry sat on his usual chair in the living room. Mia had fallen asleep near Damien in the bed, shortly after Harry dragged her down the stairs, explaining that he had not brought her here to commit suicide by deciding to climb to a tree, moreover a magic tree.

Snape was in front of him, waiting.

Again, the ticking of time resounded in the manor, but the sound had become less gloomy. Neither of them could do anything against the lullaby of time. They had both so many questions, but none spoke. One word too many, one wrong word ...

"You had already seen an obscurial? I mean, before." Harry finally asked.

Snape shook his head. "The disease is not very well known and very taboo, it is only provoked when a magical child is abused, which is the most serious crime in the wizarding world, and therefore only happens very little..."

Harry snorted in a very ungraceful manner. Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.

"There are three magical children in this house teacher, and they were all beaten, one of them is an obscurial."

Snape's heart missed a beat. _Oh 'Tunia, no... what have you done, no not you you wouldn't... The last trace of Lily, no no no..._

"What about you, Potter?"

"How long has my health interest you?" The boy retorted with an impatient gesture of the hand. "Damien has never received a letter from Hogswarts. But this is not the most important. Maybe it's a serious crime, but it still has to be detected."

He stood up and began to turn round in front of the fireplace again lit, even if this time the manor was entirely illuminated.

"Abuses can only be detected if parents fall under the ministry, which means that only pure blood and half-blood are protected ... some of them. If the parents have enough influence, or are cast out, nobodies will never notice, nobody will ever care because it's not suppose to happen." There was venom in his voice that hit Snape with every word.

"Yet, since global war ..." Hary gave him a questioning look. He had never heard of this, he could not learn everything from the history of the magical world in such a short time. Especially not with everything that fell on him every day. Harry decided that one day he would take holidays, far away, on an island. He had to restrain a laugh at the idea of a Dumbledore in a flamboyant swimsuit coming to the end of the world to take him back to Hogswarts.

Snape sighed. "We'll have to talk about that too ..."

"Yes, I fell like there are many things we have to talk about." Harry stopped to think.

 _Maybe..._ The idea struck him: it was the solution. Actually, it was the only solution. He went to stand beside the bay window, watching the snow-covered garden shining under the rays of the new moon and the golden manor's light. He looked old, doing that. His hands still behind his back in that posture of a good student he had finally adopted as he reflected, his eyes lost in the dark snow, far away. He did not know if he could trust the teacher, but ... it was the best solution. He should find a way to ensure his loyalty, of course, but that too could wait. The most urgent was to allow Damien to get regular care, and to allow himself to sleep at least twice a week.

Harry was strong, not stupid, he could feel his knees trembling, his magic slipping little by little hor from his yoke. And then ... although it frightened him, he knew that he also needed a doctor. Someone who understood what it was like to have blood on their hands. From someone who had already faced Voldemort's red eyes, and got away. Besides, the man was probably a genius.

"You may have heard that the government wants me to choose someone to take care of me."

"I'm not known to be paternal, Potter." snarled Snape.

Somehow, it pissed le boy even more. Oh yes, he had understood that when Snape started bullying him in class for no reason.

"I do not need a father. I do not need a protector." Harry gave him a hard, determined look. "I do not need a friend, I do not need compassion. I'm not a child, I've never been one. I'm no victim. I do not ask you to be close to me, I do not ask you to care about me. I ask you to help me. We need a healer."

There was silence in the room. Harry knew that the man was going to accede; He had aroused his curiosity. Snape was a dark mage, regardless of his allegiance. He was someone who wanted to know more, to discover more, even to do atrocious things, even to put his life in danger. He could not resist what he guessed at Harry's. An enigma. Harry suspected this was the first interesting thing that had happened to him since the fall.

"Alright."

Snape had stood up and held out his hand to Harry, but Harry grabbed his forearm. It was not an agreement, it was an oath. They remained there, both attempting to pass the barriers of the other, none succeeding. There was a laugh at the back of his head.

Harry felt relieved, so relieved. He was no longer alone. He no longer felt his legs, and the world was pale, blurred around him. What was he doing? He felt something holding his arm, finally holding something of him, or else it was only a pressure somewhere, in the midst of the tasks that danced before his eyes. His breathing slowed down, or perhaps accelerated, he did not know. He heard something break behind, far, so far behind him.

He smiled weakly at the professor, who was beginning to grow pale as he saw the child decompose in front of him.

"Not the hospital ..." Harry whispered before collapsing, unconscious.

Snape managed to catch up the child before he fell to the ground. His eyes were shaken, and he trembled. Severus carried him to an empty room with all the delicacy of which he was capable. By catching him, he felt something strange. He frowned. At first glance, he would have thought that the child had made a bout of exhaustion, but he felt something else. With a wand gesture, he removed all the duvets and cushions from the double bed. By placing him on the bed, he accidentally touched his hand. He was cold. Too cold. Immediately, Snape took his pulse.

Slow.

He murmured a curse. Of course. He had to stay in his clothes soaked all day, not to sleep and ... when was this the last time he had seen him eat? Now that he was thinking about it, Harry was extraordinarily fine, even for his age ...

He removed the scarf from the child's neck, showing scars. Now that he saw them more closely, something insinuated itself into him.

 _Oh no, oh no._

With an other movement of his wand, he lit all the light of the room. He invoked a potion he had left in the other room, to make the heart beat quicker, otherwise ... He was calm. Severus Snape was always calm, especially when he was doing his duty. And those scars he knew. He had already seen them, heal them, he had made some, for years.

But not ... not on a child ... He was about to pull off the sweater and t-shirt to continue his examination when a voice stopped him.

"No." The boy named Damien was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed on his chest, his only eye scrutinizing the professor. Gladis stood behind him, she was probably the one who had gone to look for him.

"And why not? He needs care." Snape's voice was dragging. He had no time for childishness. The boy thought for a moment, then raised his head.

"Then take a chair."

"I am not weak, young man, I have already seen ..."

"No not like this." The child's voice was so categorical that Snape thought it best to invoke a chair, if only to avoid having to argue any longer.

Of course, he would not have embarrassed himself to argue whether the house-elf was not staring at him, probably imagining all the things she could do to him if he hurt her young master. Truely, that elf was terrifying.

With gestures made sure by experience, Snape first removed the sweater. He could already see through the t-shirt that something was wrong. It did not fall normally on the child's chest. He strengthened his mind, slowed his breath. Lightly lifting the child with another spell, he removed the t-shirt. He closed his eyes immediately, thanking all the gods for a chair to be placed behind him to catch him.

But he was hardened. After the first shock, he recovered, tied his hair behind his neck, rolled up his sleeves, and began to examine the child. He raised his wand to the heart, or where the heart should have been.

 _"Historia medicinae_ " As the little parchment filled, he tried to understand what was going on with it. The ribs were twisted in all directions, almost piercing the skin in places, creating marks, cutting veins. The organs were displaced, some bruised. There were signs of burning ... Severus could recognize cigarettes, iron, boiling water on his shoulders.

He pressed his lips. And the heart, god he could see the heart under the skin! The marks continued along his arms, his neck ...

Softly, Snape put Harry in a seated position, holding him down as he passed a forearm around him. The back ... it had to be shredded. Belt strokes, of course, but some places were sunken.

 _Freak_. It was written, carved all over his back. He felt he was going to be sick.

He cast a glance at Damien, who for every reply raised his eyebrows. He had warned him. Snape was still calm, but he knew this calm, it was not good. He was in shock. A little noise told him that the parchment had finished filling up. He grabbed it and began to read.

The parchment was longer than those he had seen for most of the adults he had had to treat. He expected him to start, as with most children, about two or three years old, unless the baby was sick, but no.

One year: death.

 _Oh God..._

Then the parchment jumped for a few weeks. A few weeks, dammit! Before starting again. And it went on, over and over again, and the wound escalated. Fractures, burns, concussions, famine, lack of sleep, famine, fracture, hemorrhage, fracture ... Then he stopped. Fracture of the vertebral nerve. At seven. And the list went on. After a moment the first deficiencies began to degenerate. Diseases were accumulating. No injuries had ever been treated.

He did not wanted to believe it. But the parchement could'nt lie... He had seen child abuse, but never something like that. That was something the Dark Lord could do during his interrogations. It was his family, his own family that had done it. Snape had endeavored to leave, to leave the manor, to find the Dursleys and make them pay.

Then something struck his conscience. _They died ... as soon as Harry had a new place to stay, they died ..._

No, it was impossible. It was only a child. But how can he still be alive?

"His magic fixes it." Replied Damien to the silent question. " Since his two, apparently. But ... this is what you call magical accidents, it does not reflect, it does not do things right, but on the brink of urgency. Everything stays in the position in which they were when they were broken. " There was no pain in Damien's voice, just acceptance.

This... this wasn't abuse. This was torture, constant torture. Severus remembered. How Harry was constantly reading medical books. How he grinned as soon as someone touched him, how he avoided the crowd. He had never seen one of his friends lay a hand on him, even Draco. How he wore one or more sweaters, scarves, his bag always on a small cushion or extra fabric. How yesterday he had refused his help, even as he collapsed, refused his arm, screaming.

 _I do not need a father ... I'm not a victim ... We need a healer._

And saying that, he was sure, Harry had not even thought of himself. Every movement of the boy must have been pain. As he scrutinized the end of the parchment, he held his breath. Harry also had wounds caused by magic. Clearly not made to cause the child to suffer, but the only spells that could cause this kind of thing were learned only after Hogwarts.

A teacher.

Snape was furious, but also exhausted. The other boy was smoldering Harry with his eyes, not at all embarrassed by all the scars, by the deformity of his body. They had passed through the same thing, to different degrees, but obviously they had gone through it together. Snape was taken out of class. These children had managed to survive together without the help of an adult with that.

"Go to bed. Watch the girl." He ordered Damien, then, turning to Gladis: "Send us back to Hogswarts, in my quarters, I can not heal him here." He did not even glance at the other child. He did not have to look after him.

The other ... he was not Lily's son. He owed him nothing.

He wrapped the child in his cloak and placed it on the bed of the guest-room in his quarters. The night was over at Hogwarts. Harry was deeply asleep, but he woke up as soon as the teacher laid him down on the bed. He should have been furious. But something in Snape's eyes held him back. And then he was so tired ... He found the strength to fix Snape, with his green eyes so dangerous.

"Do not tell more than you should." He only said. Snape nodded.

 _I can not heal him alone..._

But he had to. And first, he had to wait until Potter wakes up, and to talk to dear, oh _dear_ Dumbledore.

Harry felt something soft under his skin. All around him. A current of cold air on his face. He shuddered. There was someone. He did not know where he was, he did not know what he was doing there or who he was, but there was someone there. Harry concentrated. He unfolded his magic, his will in the room. Cold. Wet. Under ground, no, under water.

A bed, a chair, some other furniture.

A bottle with a liquid, a potion.

And somebody. Black. A familiar energy on his arm, on his forearm, a snake, something dark that was screaming, no, no waiting for a call. And then everything came back to his mind.

"I hope, professor, that you waited for me before going to talk to Dumbledore." He said in his most polite voice before he even opened his eyes. He felt Snape stop.

"You're hoping, Mr. Potter. Yes, I've been waiting for you." Harry straightened up, trying to take stock.

Then he realized that he was still half-naked. He hated it, and immediately wrapped himself in the blanket.

"Do not worry, Mr. Potter. There's only two of us here, and I happen to be your doctor." Harry did not answer. His heart would accelerate dangerously, and he had to use all his concentration so as not to send the teacher to hell by accident.

Snape placed a clean uniform on the edge of the bed before leaving the room. Harry quickly put on his uniform. He would have preferred to have bandages, but he would not ask for them.

He was angry with himself. He had been weak in front of a potential enemy, worse, before a potential ally. And he had seen his marks. He had seen, and he knew, and now he was going to regard him as a poor victim, as something he had to protect. He did not want that. He refused to be pitied. He had lived too much for it. He had fought too hard. Or maybe it could serve him... But ... but at least Damien could get care now.

Harry would not have to go back to the mansion. He would not have to learn fast-paced how to save someone from his own magic, and he could concentrate on the other dangers that surrounded him. On a way to save Damien. Harry got out of the room and looked around. It was the first time he had entered a professor's quarters.

It was ... as he had imagined. A small apartment in the castle, except that the walls were of raw and dark stones, dressed in dyes. There was a small kitchen in an impeccable order, a living room consisting of a sofa and two old armchairs around a coffee table, a large dining table. Apart from the room he left, there were two other doors, one for the professor's room, and Harry guessed that the other had to be a kind of library or office.

Snape was sitting in one of the seats, drinking coffee. It's at least the third tonight, unless ...

 _"Tempus,"_ Harry whispered. A small clock appeared in the form of bluish figures shining in the air.

"You should not drink so much coffee, Professor." He said, after making sure that he had only slept for a few hours.

"Maybe, Mr. Potter, if a certain student of my acquaintance had not had the good idea to keep me awake two consecutive nights I would not have to."

"I'm only an innocent messenger, you can go and grumble at Damien." He answered with a grin. Snape glared at him, a glare that would have sent Harry into oblivion if it could. But Harry knew better. And his own glare was much more terrifying.

"I think we have to talk about a few things." Said Harry, the dangerously soft voice, sitting down in front of Snape.

"Oh yes?"

"I'm not an idiot, Professor, we've both seen what Damien is capable of, and if you were under oath not to talk about it yesterday, you're more for the events of today. I suspect that something so dangerous must be brought to the attention of the ministry, if I am not mistaken, there must be measures, incarceration or destruction of the person. What, you suspect, I will not tolerate. However, I knowhis he is unstable. I know it better than anyone else. "

Harry looked into Snape's eyes. He really felt like he was addressing a wall. For a moment he thought that to be confronted with this man in less favorable circumstances must be terrible. He must have been a very gifted Death Eater.

"So, professor, I will ask you again to remain silent."

"Will it be a favor, Potter?"

"No, it would be in our interest to both of you, I do not contract any debts, professor, but since you're going to be my guardian ... I do not know the official word. I'm going to tell you frankly." He felt Snape tense as his own voice became sharp, almost a whistle. "If anything happened to my brother, Professor, I can assure you that the magical world will quikly understand many of its mistakes, and if it happened that you were the ... talkative, it would be a betrayal." Harry spread an innocent smile on his face. "I think you already know the appropriate punishment for the traitors, don't you Professor?"

Had he turned pale? Harry was not sure, but he had reached his goal. The contemptuous eyebrow, the haughty smile, the hateful glance, all that had disappeared.

"Are you threatening me Potter?"

"I would not dare, I just reminded you that bad choices can lead to bad consequences."I do not want you to do it all out of fear, I am one of those people who think that fear is only a poor and unstable lauyalty's insurance. You've seen enough to understand at least in part why I'm telling you this, and why I still have to lay down certain... assurance. "

"I see. You do are a Slytherin, Mr Potter, unlike..."

"My father? I wouldn't know. The only thing I remember of him and of my mother is them dying." Snapped Harry, not even changing his tone. Now he was sure of it, he had indeed turned pale.

"You ... you remember?"

" I never forget a thing, but that's not the question, Professor. The question is, what are you going to tell Dumbledore when we go to see him?" Snape shook his head, and his mask immediately fall back on its place.

"Do not worry about that, Potter, you are under my protection from now on, whatever you use for it, you are my Godson's best friend, and of my own family, even artificially. Forbidden to question my honor by implying that I could betray you. "

"Did you hold the same speech to the Dark Lords when you swore fidelity to him or did you swear to Dumbledore before that?" Harry tilted his head as Snape squinted. "You understand that whatever my decision on my own, it's hard to trust you when you swear on your honor. You used to work for the man that killed my parents and tried to kill me."

"Do not go beyond the limits, Potter." He snarled.

"I did not intend to insult you, professor. Whatever your allegiance, I respect it because in any case you have succeeded in lying and manipulating one of the two most powerful wizards of this world. I can respect that, but I put too much into your hands today to limit myself to respect."

Snape sight. "And why are you always putting Dumbledore and the Dark Lord on the same level, when you ask about it?" Now, the man had suspicious eyes.

Oh dear, if he knew.

"Dumbledore knew about it." Harry said pointing at himself. "There were wards around the house, and he used to send them letters. There is no way he didn't knew." Harry could almost see the cracks in the professor's mask. He would have to train to keep it in place, later one. Maybe years without real threats did weaken this ability. Or maybe, Hary was himself too aware of what he could feel not to notice the slightest change, in his face, in his magic, in the way he breath. The man was nearly doing a breakdown, but he managed to keep his face in place.

"I think we can manage to an agreement, then. I will keep silent on your brother and on what I saw at the manor. But, and I will not argue on that, I want you to come with me at the hospital wing. I assure you complet secrecy, and it will happen when you will be ready, but you will go and be healed. Am I clear?" Snape's tone did not suffer any reflection, and although it cost Harry, he agreed.

"Now, go prepare and to classes. I will not allow my protégé to be rude to my fellow professors."

Snape knocked at the door of Dumbledore's office, which was a griffin. And to say that they dared to tell him that he was favoritism for his house. Snape sniffed at this blatant injustice.

"Come in, my boy!" Albus said with all the joy he put into each of his sentences. Severus obeyed and walked into the office, which was overloaded with various objects from the Headmaster.

Under the latter's invitation, he sat down in one of the armchairs.

"Lemon drop? Tea?"

"Tea, please." _And wisky. A lot of wisky,_ he thought.

Dumbledore waved his hand and two cups of tea appeared. Snape gave him a questioning look when someone else knocked on the door.

"Minerva! Right on time!" At least he had not called her "my boy".

He had expected Albus to summon Minerva. She was her right-hand man, and was in charge of the management of the pupils. Moreover, she was among those who were there when they had deposed Harry with the Dursleys. At this simple thought, Severus wanted to scream. Because of them, he had broken his promise ... for now.

But one thing was certain, she was sincerely concerned about Potter's fate. He wondered if Minerva was capable of doing something without being sincere. She was the head of the Gryffindors, after all.

"Well, well, this little meeting is taking place to talk about the young Mr Potter. I think, Minerva, that you wanted to show me something?" The professor of transfiguration opted with a proud smile. Then she took out a silver cup from one of her pockets and put it on the desk. Albus took it and examined it for a moment.

"It's a very fine work, Minerva, but how does this relate to our subject?"

There was a sparkle in his eyes that said he knew perfectly what it had to do with the subject.

"Albus, this cup was a rat, a rat transformed by Mr. Potter from his first lesson!" Albus handed the cup to Severus. In vain did he turn and turn it in all directions, he saw no mark, no roughness that denoted the transfigurations made by beginners. Then he understood. The cup was still perfect as Harry had to transform it the day before, maybe even before. And what none of the other two knew, in a state of exhaustion. All the details engraved in ...

"Pure silver!" He could not resist speaking aloud in surprise.

Minerva's smile spread even more.

"And I saw him transform Mr. Malfoy's rat, albeit very discreetly, right afterwards, this time into a simple metal cut. I've never seen that, Albus, such a control, so young!" The headmaster approved with ... pride? In the eyes. How could he be proud, knowing...?

"Minerva is an exeptionnel, but it seems to me that the young Mr Potter is a very exeptional child, and rarely does anyone win the respect of Slytherin's pure-blood circles and Griffindor's muggleborns." Dumbledore winked at Snape behind his half-moon glasses. The professor refrained from sending his hand in his face, suspecting that many people were restraining themselves in the same way in the presence of Albus Dumbledore, and especially the people who really knew him. He had heard that he crooked noze came from his own brother, and it really, really wasn't hard to believe.

"Severus, what did you want to talk to us about?"

"I'll adopt the boy." They both looked at him with round eyes. Severus, as usual, had opted for conciseness, leaving his interlocutors stunned. But finally, it was only formality, the real decision had been made ... actually when Potter had landed in his room. Very Gryffindor.

"Severus." Slowly started Minerva, "I'm sorry to tell you, but you do not have quite the stuff of a father."

Snape sighed, he had expected this objection. He felt Dumbledor's gaze on him.

"Minerva, I know that I am not a tender, or even a pleasant person, I would never be a father to him, but he does not need it. He never needed it. " He placed one of his hands on his temple. He had to choose his words very carefully. "He is the one that asked me."

"Severus, I don't know... I mean, you always are so severe with him and..."

"That's precisly the very reason he choose me. Listen Minerva, we all already agreed on the fact that he isn't some sort of new Dark Lord, but I must insist on the fact that he isn't a hero either. He may become one, one day, but now... he is only a child. And I think he want to deserve what can be given to him. He doesn't want someone to bow on his every steps. He doesn't want false tenderness. I will treat him like he was any child under my protection, like he was one of the Slytherins, and he already is one."

"I see you've already made your choice, Severus." The said man nodded, releasing his black locks in front of his eyes.

"I think, headmaster, that Potter has already made his choice."

As soon as Harry found his comrades, he pointed to them, a clear sign that he wanted to see them on the seventh floor. They all agreed with a smile: after a few days of inactivity, their leader had finally returned. Harry had to wait a few hours before McGonagall patted him on the shoulder and summoned him to the headmaster's office.

Making a sign of appeasement to the other Slytherin, he went immediately. He would miss the course of history of magic, what a pity. He needed two more hours on the goblin war, which had no influence on the wizarding world for what he knew. Except if you were working at Gringott. To think it over, perhaps the subject could prove interesting ... But there was more urgent. For example, the Dark Lord, who was walking in the corridors, a three-headed dog in the castle (which led him to say that research was needed on Nicolas Flammel), a brother who was threatening to explode, a grumpy and dangerous master of potions that took him under his wings, and Dumbledore, whose name summed up everything.

Harry knocked on the door of the bull and made the same reflection as Snape a few minutes earlier. He went in search of the three professors, still drinking their tea. They all turned towards him as soon as he entered. He glanced at Snape and shook his head imperceptibly.

"Headmaster, did you want to see me?" Harry asked, placing his voice almost an octave above what it really was.

"Come in, come in, my boy!" Harry obeyed. MacGonagall invoked a chair so he could sit between her and Snape. Harry sat down with obvious timidity, looking around as if to seek support. Dumbledore was looking at him behind his half-moon glasses. Harry wondered if he had ever left these glasses.

"Do you want a cookie, Potter?" asked MacGonagall. Harry politly refused.

"Harry my boy, Professor Snape came to tell us about your decision." Harry nodded quickly, looked at his feet, twisted his hands and then looked back at Dumbledore. A perfect little child. Exept for the cookie part, but he hadn't eat in two days and he knew he would be sick if he started by something too sweet. For the first time, he regretted not to be proposed lemon drops, but he could still eat in the Chamber.

Ananta would kill him when he returned. Caught in the course of the events, he had forgotten to prevent her, and it was nearly two days since he had not gone to see her or even given news, without counting that he had left her in charge of the little ones! He already expected discontented whistling for hours, disputes, sulkiness. Especially when she learned that a stranger had been caught in the nest. Harry did not know yet whether he would introduce the snake to Snape. The man had known Voldemort, and so he had already heard Parsel. The tongue was probably related in his mind to more than unpleasant things, unless he was a convinced and sadistic Death Eater, which Harry doubted strongly.

There was torp of restraint in the man so that he was totally accused to Voldemort, and frankly harry wondered if he had ever been convinced by the speeches of the Dark Lord. He did not have the luster that Harry could see in Lucius' eyes as soon as he saw a similarity between him and the Dark Lord. It was more ... a sort of patient and restrained fear.

"Severus, can you leave us a moment?" Without a word, the teacher went out hos robes billowing aroud him. _How does he makes his robes billow in an office?_

"Harry tell me, you had a lot of choices, I do not question your decision, I just want to know why. Severus is a good person but it's not ... "

"Professor." Harry's voice became more assured. "All the choices I had were people who did not know me, people who did not know the world I came from, you know, Professor Snape ..." He sighed. "He does not see The-Boy-Who-Lived. He sees Harry."

Dumbledore's smile widened and he patted his beard, which Harry had learned to interpret as a sign of contentment. He had plaited it that day with silver flowers and threads of white pearls, which were in keeping with his motley coat. The man really had a gift to look imposing in clothes that literally scratched the retina. Watching him more closely, Harry notices something strange in the room.

As a diffuse energy ... Harry could not put his finger on it, but his amusement disappeared suddenly. It was easy, very easy to forget how powerful man was, and therefore dangerous.

"Well Harry, I think we all agree that I have to send a letter to the ministry." He said in his usual grand-fatherly voice. The green-eyed boy notices his cup on the table. He turned with surprise, this time real, towards Macgonagall.

"I was telling your little feat to Professor Dumbledore." She answered her silent question. Harry strove to blush.

"I only did the exercise that was asked to me, Professor." He did not hide a small smile, which he spread on his face when he saw Dumbledore's eyes lit up before his behavior. If he could, Harry would have narrowed his eyes. Why was Dumbledore satisfied with submissive and weak behavior? He was a Gryffindor, and if he had more brains than most of those Harry had met, he did not doubt for a second that their values were deeply rooted in him. So why? With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore opened the door with wandless magic, allowing Snape to come back.

The dark man did not regain his place, and contented himself by staying near the door, his arms crossed, his impassive gaze fixed on the headmaster. In this position, he undoubtedly deserved his nickname of the dungeon bat. Harry could see why the other students were afraid of him, but he could not help but think that he was just a character. The person, behind, had to be at the same time much worse and more human. After all, the man had respected Voldemort's respect, and if Harry did not know much about the Dark Lord, he had an idea about his propention to congratulate the people. It must be said that his main activity was probably more to make them bow before him.

"Well, Severus, after a little discussion with Mr. Potter, I think I can give you my blessing, I do not doubt that you will treat Mr. Potter accurately in relation to the other students. After all, your godson, Mr. Malfoy, is Already in your classroom is he not? " The sarcasm was almost palpable. Harry choked a little laugh and Dumbledore gave him a complicit look, which made Snape frown. Harry gave him an apologetic look, but after all, he deserved it. His favoritism for Slytherin, and particularly for Draco, was known to all.

Harry knew there were huge expectations and severe hardships, but before the last two days Snape had made his potions lessons a weekly punishment. To Harry's surprise, he did not pick up the insult and just fixed a bored look at Dumbledore. Man, he had nerves.

"Now, Potter, it seems to me that you still have an exciting course in the history of magic ..."

"Indeed Professor Snape, I should go." Replied Harry, voluntarily pressing his words, which made Macgonagall laugh. "However, let me question the fact that the professor in question noticed my absence ..."

"In class, now." Snape ordered, obviously restraining himself from rolling his eyes.


	13. Chapter 12

Hey! A Ne Chapter. Things are starting to get serious for Harry. As always, I hope you enjoy it and a big thanks to all of you following that story!

Chapter 12:

Harry entered the Chamber with a little apprehension.

 **"Master, Master!"**

He was immediately assaulted by a swarm of small serpents whistling in every direction. He crouched down so that they could slip along his wrists, his arms and his ankles. He loved the tickling of their scales on his skin. Harry did not understand why people refused to touch even the most inoffensive snakes: their contact was so nice!

 **"Come on, let's be calm, my little ones, I only left two days, are you okay, Ananta has fed you well?"**

They emitted little whistles of satisfaction. **"Now tell me, where is Ananta?"**

 **"Big Sister is hidden under the bed because she does not want to talk to the master!** " Proudly hissed the little red.

 **"Thank you, but let me tell you something small red: Ananta is your family. If she hides from me, it does not matter, but one day she might hide from another speaker. Tell me where she is in this case, but if it's someone else, you may condemn her to death ... "**

The little serpent looked desolate, at least as much as a serpent might look desolate. Content of his lesson, Harry turned and walked to his apartments. He had to make sure to be the only master of all Hogwarts's snakes. Not that he didn't trust the Dark Lord, just that... he didn't trusted him a single bit.

The room was completely silent. It was evident that the serpent was hiding.

Harry called her several times, and when at some point it was clear that the serpent would not go out of his own free will, he went back into the little drawing-room to wait for the other Slytherins, who were not long in coming. He had no intention of using magic to force the snake out.

 **"Now, children! I want you all to stay with Ananta. There will be humans here in a few minutes."**

 **"Do we have to hide from humans?"**

 **"No, but these are not used to see little snakes like you and I don't want to scare them, understood?"**

 **"Yes, Master!"**

Harry threw them one or two rats he had found in the reserve that Ananta was 'secretly' holding in one of the rough edges of the entrance wall.

He settled comfortably, enjoying the feeling of the fabric that he had missed for two days (two? He felt he had spent weeks out of Hogwarts). Blaise, Draco and Daphne arrived very soon after, visibly excited. They wanted answers to their questions. They sat down in their usual places.

"Harry, where were you, I have not seen you in the dormitories for several days, and you have not spoken to us and ..."

Such a lack of manners...

"Come on, Calm Draco, I'm here in one piece and I have not even missed a single course."

They all cast a disillusioned look, dissatisfied with the answer, which caused him to burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I had a few minor problems at home, which led to a complicated sequence of events that we now belong to the same family!"

Draco looked at him with round eyes. "Did you accept my parents's offer?"

Harry said no with his head. He really liked to spare his effects. "No, no, but it seems that we have the same godfather, in a way."

It took a moment for his friends to record the information.

"What ?!"

"Yup, Professor Snape and I arrived at a ... arrangement." Harry replied with a smile.

"But how?"

Harry thought for a moment what he could, and wanted to tell them ... maybe he had to be an honest minimum, in any case they lived with him, they would eventually realize some things. Damien was out of bounds, for now, but he could use his own story to convince them.

"I know, I know, he was atrocious with me until now. But let's just said that Dumbledore happened and now he is my tutor."

"You really aren't telling us more?" Draco had regain his bored-to-hell-by-everything's mask.

"Well I'm afraid that if I did I couldn't eat for the rest of my life fearing to be poisonned by Snape..."

Draco smirked "I think that the worst is that he is actually capble of it..."

Harry smiled back. He had no doubt about that. "I'll let you tell your parents?"

"I already imagine the face that my father will do." Draco snickered.

"And you are not telling us how you went to settle things at your home? Like, nobody can appartate from Hogwarts!" Blaise frowned.

"Is that so? I wasn't even aware of that rule. Well, think Blaise, if nobody could leave Hogwarts with magic, how is it that we do not see a line of elves in the garden?"

"Elves? What are you talking about?"

Harry sighed.

"That's the problem with purebloods, you are so accustomed to magic that you don't even see what's under your golden noze! How Could we all have food if the elves couldn't appartate from Hogwarts, knowing that they don't have any other way out that the gardens?"

Draco's eyes widened as he understood.

"You mean you used an elf to go to your manor?"

Harry gave him a proud smile., well, he tried to anyway. "Yes, and I do not think anyone has realized it. We can use this method for ... other things." He continued with a wink.

The others chuckled.

"On another subject," he went on, "I have clues as to why there is a Cerberus in the castle."

Immediately he felt three pairs of eyes staring at him. Oh, he loved when they were like that, hanging on his lips, ready to act. He quickly explained what he had succeeded in drawing from Hagrid. None of them knew Nicholas Flammel more than by name.

"Well, I'll ask you to do some discreet research. Stay in the authorized section for now, I would look to look elsewhere if you can not find anything."

"We could ask our parents, right?" Blaise asked, frowning.

Harry thought for a moment about this possibility. Like all Blaise's ideas, it was not completly stupid.

"No. I'm pretty sure that if your parents knew they would argue at the ministry, who would ask to Dumbledore, who would soon fall on me, as Hagrid will tell him what he told me and that the connection between you and me is pretty obvious. "

So they put in place an alternate search system between the three, since a first-year undergraduate student doing research too many times on this particular topic would attract the attention of the librarian, a strict old woman wich seemed to be an expert at spotting everything in her library.

"I think I will introduce Longbottom and Granger in our plans soon, I want to make them our eyes and ears among the first years of Gryffindor. The Weasley twins will be our arms for our more visible activities . "

Draco had a disgusted pout. "Engaging these blood-traitors, and a mudblood, frankly Harry we could hope for better. These people are not worth the seats on which we sit."

Harry had to refrain from sending his hand in his face, but he knew better the Slytherin than that.

"The Weasleys are experts in traps, jokes of all kinds, which means they contain many secret passages, probably passages outside the castle, I'm pretty sure that if we compare their actual number of infringements to their number of detentions, we could see the real genius. They will be able to avoid getting caught, and so we with them. And if something happen, they will take the hit."

He thought for a moment.

"Granger will always be a risk, not because of her blood, but because she likes the rules, she follows them as strictly as Filch himself, but her cleverness could clearly be put to good use. No one can deny that she has 's episode has more or less already excited our cause, and the teachers trust her ... "

"And for the other houses? The idea is to spread throughout the school, right?" Daphne asked, leaning her head to one side. Harry woke up every day to how much she could be Machiavellian, more than he himself. This girl clearly had incredible potential. Her magic level was correct, but her mind moved much, much faster than the others as soon as it was a matter of trapping. She loved it.

"Mhm, I already have some ideas for Hufflepuff, but nothing for Ravenclaw for now. However, I think it would still take a few eye actions to reunite the three is necessary to establish respect and loyalty towards the eye."

"But what is the purpose after all this?"

"I want to establish a system of rules that will really be applied, not according to the goodwill of the Dumbledore, but by and for the students. That we can do justice to ourselves, that I want everyone to feel loyalty, not fear, and I want the eye to become their referent on all issues of morality and behavior. People like Nott do not get away with a detention and wicked looks. I want us to choose our faith by ourselves."

All his companions smiled. Oh yes, they liked it. It was the promise of power, it was the promise of revenge, it was the promise of freedom, but above all, it was above all to create all that under Dumbledore's eyes.

Harry thought. They would not be able to do anything alone ... they had to win the school, and for that ... he had no idea. Yet. Harry always figured out something, and if anything he was quite good at imrpovising.

"We need to spread the word and to have a way of comunication with each others without being in the same room..." he muttured.

"I'll look into that." declared Blaise. "I think we have books about such spells at home, and the winter's holidays aren't far away."

"I didn't expected less from your family and yourself, Mr Zambini." said Harry with a warm smile.

"By the way, I heard that your mother was going to remarry?"

The boy shrugged. "For a few months ..."

Harry felt almost sad for him. Almost. It was, moreover, amazing that a boy brought up by someone so venal, in a world where the sole aim was to make a profit even if it means killing, to develop such a sense of honor. This may have been due to the pure-blood tradition, though remembering the actions of the latter during the last war, or even the bare existence of Lucius Malfoy, Harry ventured to doubt it.

Visibly embarrassed by the question, the boy stood up. "Someone wants to play wizard chess?"

Harry had no idea how to play wizard's chess, nor what the difference was with Muggle's chess (which he had never been able to play either). For a moment he wanted to confess his incompetence to his friends, but recovered himself. They loved him, of course. Because he was powerful, gifted, promising. Probably because their parents had asked them to become friends with him (it was almost certain for Draco). But there remained a half-blood, a half root, raised by muggles, almost a mudblood. For them, it remained anchored. He knew it. The only reason this was possible was, ironically, that Voldemort had gone before. Without this, without the flashing mark on his forehead, they would have beaten him. They would hate him. Probably tried to kill him at one time or another. They would have thought it was no better than a cockroach.

And never, never, Harry would allow them to think that. His half-pure blood was worth more than all their genealogical trees combined. His mind was worth more than all of theirs.

Then Harry watched the game between Blaise and Daphne carefully, trying to understand the rules as best he could.

* * *

The following days passed very quickly. The whole castle was slowly preparing to celebrate Christmas. Candles were lit up everywhere, the moving staircases were decorated with garlands in the colors of the various houses, and snowmen literally took life in the castle's jadins, which discouraged the most daring to go out. These ... things were at the very least vindictive.

But what most delighted Harry about Christmas was chocolates. The boy realized that he had never actually eaten it in his life. When he remarked in the common room, outraged shouts were heard all around him.

Immediately, Draco and Blaise grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him to the kitchens. There, after a disgusted look at the elves, they made him sit on one of the stools. Harry did not understand their reaction well, but he did not resist. It was quite amusing to see the sintered interrogators of all they had crossed: Slytherins, act thus! The head of class, in addition! And Potter, who was always so calm, so imposing, to be dragged by two other boys without more respect!

But he could not understand the chocolate's emergency. Blaise and Draco disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Harry alone and a bit distraught. He had not read anywhere that chocolate was so important to witches ...

Obviously, it did not occur to him that chocolate was important to any self-respecting human being, and that sorcerers respected themselves with as much passion as profusion.

The kitchen was a large open room where bubbling dozens of cauldrons. Elves swarmed everywhere, cutting vegetables, meat, condiments, preparing various cakes, their ears floating in all directions. Harry noticed how different their attitude was to that of Gladis: their backs were bent, their gestures, precise and useful, had hints of automatons. The smells of the various dishes in preparation caused the boy's stomach to scold.

Luckily, the two boys came back, arms full of choclate's boxes.

"Now, we are going to introduce you to the finest thing on earth." declared Draco with gravity.

Harry narrowed his eyes when Blaise gave him a small octogonal box, blue and gold. Harry had seen some, but he never dared eat wizards candy, most of them seemed to be actually _alive_. Feeling the burning gaze of hos two fellow Slytherins, Harry opened it slowly.

A chocolate frog, happy to see the light and the chance of freedom, jumped from it. Harry caught it in mid-air.

"Wow, that was some reflex!" exclaimed Draco, wich made Harry grin. "You would be quite good at Quidditch!"

"Er, I don't know. It take so much time and all..."

"But Harry, you have a gift! I mean you do better on a broom than any of us."

"I agree," confirmed Blaise," you would be very good at it."

"Alright, alright, I'll think about it." concide the gree-eye boy. The aswers pleased his friends as they didn't tried to push him further. He bite into the frog's head, trying to hold a shiver for the thing did really look alive and wishing to say so, until a delicious sweet taste spread into his mouth. So that was chocolate. He had already drank some hot chocolate, thanks to Gladis, but this was diffrent. It was stronger, sweeter, it was marvelous. The child couldn't help but to eat all the frog, and maybe one more (or an other dozen), to the point that he almost felt sick. Draco and Blaise only watched him at first, but then, satisfied with the results, joined the improvised feast.

Satiated, Harry began to look at the portraits of the famous wizards who waved at the back of the boxes of chocolate. He found Dumbledore's and read it out of curiosity.

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, O.M. (First Class), Grand Sorc., D. Wiz., X.J.(sorc.), S. of Mag.Q, is the headmaster of Hogwarts. He is known to have defeated the black mage Grindelwald as well as for his friendship with Nicholas Flamel.

Harry could not believe his eyes. Nicholas Flamel was quoted in a box of chocolate! He searched all the others but found no portrait of the man. However, this gave him the certainty that the name of Flamel was not as obscure as it appeared for the first years. A lot of witches had to hear about him ... so we just had to know who to get the information out.

Of course, they never made it to the Great Hall for diner.

If no one had identified the eye, it was pretty obvious to the first year Slytherins that the young Harry Potter was not innocent. Not that anyone suspected him to be cruel or violent, but his intelligence and his presence gave them clues. Exept for Nott, obviously, every first year Slytherin obeyed to him. But what bewildered everyone, was that they didn't fear him. He never threatened anyone in the school, never had a real bad word against one of hsi fellow snakes, never went into a fight. But there was someting in his ways that made them stand next to him, if no quite for him yet.

But if the first years weren't a problem, the six's were much more... aggressiv. The mudblood insult didn't fall in a death's ear. They didn't acted yet, but if Harry was good at something, it was to know when someone was up to something. And these ones were up to many, many things. Of course, the boy suspected Flint to have something to do with it, be he couldn't act yet: he had to wait for the boy to do something wrong. Anything wrong, really. Just to give him an excuse.

The boy sent many letters to check if Damien was fine, which was the case except when, too absorbed in his research he forgot to feed himself. Harry of course kept him in the run of everything that was happening in Hogwarts on a daily basis, and the code they used in their letters became so complex that two weeks after the incident, Draco was no longer able to understand a treacherous word when he tried to read Harry's shoulder by his hand (a habit he had quickly stopped, as he could almost almost feel Harry's eyes staring at him through his discontented skull. His father may have asked him to gathr informations, but somehow the boy felt like his life was a bit more important than that. ).

Damien's research was focused on recording all the information Harry was sending him and finding a larger scale solution for other magical children. He had had the idea of a communication system similar to the one Harry wanted to create with his family in Hogwarts, but the problem of broadcasting had to be added for unknown people and the papers or other papers can be read by adults.

He had been forced to send Mia home, with the assurance that she would return to the mansion if anything happened. The little girl was to go back to school, and her mother was about to call the police when she came home. Besides, there could be nothing for her, an accident in the village so close to that of the Dursleys would be much too shady, so the question remained suspended. However, Mia returned to the manor as soon as she had more than an hour free, and learned very, very fast thanks to the books Harry had brought back to the manor. Of course, she had to stay with the theory since no one for now could help her on practical matters and that she had no wand. As a result, Damien had begun to learn the basics of potions and herbology, but Mia was not adept at books and preferred to run outside, climb in the trees, in short run everywhere, wich Damien thought was 'the cutest thing he had ever seen, exept the butterflys of your birthday, but you know, she is king of a butterfly herself!'. Harry had called him a "sweet chiken mama" after that.

Harry always spent the Monday's nights to be pursued by Quirell, or the Dark Lord, he didn't quite knew yet how to make the difference between the two of them in these situations. Little by little, he became gifted to hide and dodge spells, it was quite like hide and doge whatever the Dursleys used to throw at him. However, the severity of the damage when touched increased proportionately. Quirell often gave the same homeworks as the researches on the various spells, and principally on the defense. Harry had learned all these spells, instead of just listing them (he was pretty sure that was the real purpose of these homework). It had become clear to the Slytherin that Quirell was actually quite good at his job despite his slowness in the process, and had decided to go beyond the scope of their textbooks (which really did not include much). They learned the existence of the protego, and expelliarmus, how an attack spell could be used to defend oneself and vice versa. After these hint, they actually started to wander a lot in the library. His friends took the habit to gave him food they had stolen at diner through his fortress of books and papers. Even the librarian had never seen anything like this, and was squite dumbfondled at how such a small boy could lift so many books.

However, despite his progress, Harry never managed to hide from Quirell. The man seemed to have a sixth sense, and Harry did not know where the problem came from. He just felt weak. He felt like a prey.

Thanks to the twins, he no longer had to try to avoid Flinch every time. As soon as he had given them the signal, the two Weasleys had begun to attack the poor man. It had begun the day when all the pipes of the castle had mysteriously blocked, causing unbearable hints. For the first steps of its stairs had begun to become slippery. The heating had been inexplicably cut in the guard's apartments. His food had taken on the taste of exploding in his face, and all his clothes shrunk regularly. This among so many other farces, signed Weasley, or, for every student in Hogwarts, the eye. The poor man started to have black circles under his eyes when Harry asked the twins to stop. Of course the abrutness of it sent Flinch into a form of paranoïa which was actually quite fun to witness. Nobody liked him anyway.

Yet the two brothers never got caught. The prefects of Slytherin were now totally accustomed to the eye of which they had received various messages, full of promises in case of loyalty, undermining threats in the opposite case. The prefects of all the houses were in the same situation, but Harry was less spurred than they would hold their tongues, especially the older Weasley brother, Percy, who seemed to be as much attached to the settlement as a mold to his rock.

For him, the eye had insinuated pistons if he took the desire to work at the minister, pistons assured by Malfoy, but which for the moment were only bluff. Harry had continuously sent each prefect to one of the small serpents, exept the red that he kept precisely hidden. The snakelings passed through all the pipes and followed their target. In the evening, once it was clear that the prefect would no longer come out of his dormitory, they returned to account to Ananta, who rewarded them by offering them more or less food. The enormous serpent had ended by addressing again to Harry, but only by making him promise to take him every time he came out of the castle for so long. Harry promised, noting in his mind that a spell would have to be learned very quickly to reduce the size of the snake.

The headboys and headgirls were still a problem, a big problem. They were so close to leave Hogwarts that they were almost insensible to any blackmail nor promises... But to Harry's great surprise, some were sensitives to his ideas.

Of course, thanks to the letter sent to the prefect, the reputation of the eye did not drop, and it always remained in everybody's minds. The professors, if they suspected anything, could not grasp the problem for the simple reason that nothing on the subject was reported to them.

Harry had very quickly received a letter of congratulation for his "adoption" from the Malfoys, indicating that they did not take offense that he had not chosen them, and inviting him to spend the winter solstice with them. Harry politetly declined, for the very reason that he had to work more than the other, concidering his previously poor education (letter that had been guided in form by Draco And which was therefore of exquisite politeness, and in the purest style of pure blood). Fortunately, news of the adoption had not yet spread in the newspapers (Harry suspected that Dumbledore was the reason and truely, truely thanked him for that), and it had been agreed to go to fill the papers at the Ministry on the first day of school vacations, with the help of Lucius, which would of course allow them to remain discreet, to pass the lines, to solve the problems, to silence the indiscreet tongues, in addition to showing to the world the support of the Malfoys in this decision.

A week before the Christmas holidays, the first real match of the year was announced. It was a meeting between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Immediately, everyone began to move about, bearing the colors of the house they supported, in the form of sweaters, scarves, flags, socks, bodypainting and else. The shaker was in turmoil, even if it did not reach the tense exitantion that preceded the matches between the serpents and the lions.

The night before the game, Harry decided to go up to the Hufflepuff common room, accompanied by Daphne (since Draco and Blaise, too late in their homework, had to stay behind to work). If the atmosphere of the common room did not please Daphne, she hid it well.

Obviously, as soon as they entered the common room, silence was made. Some Hufflepuffs knew Harry, but the great majority saw two Slytherins, enemies of match and known for their pliant character, entering their common room, which did not mean good.

Harry ignored the gazes and stretched his hand out to Diggory, followed by Daphne. The two boys shook hands warmly.

"Cedric, I present Daphne Greengrass, a brilliant friend who is also in her first year."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Daphne!" Cedric said with a big smile, shaking hands with Daphne's elegant hand. "And here's Cho, my girlfriend." Cedric continued, pointing to an asian girl, rather pretty with her long black hair and innocent eyes. She wore the blue uniform of the Ravenclaw. Harry took her hand and put a kiss on her knuckles.

"I see that Cedric has as much taste for love as for friendship!" He said with a small smile, which made the Hufflepuff laugh.

"Everybody!" Said Cedric loudly enough to be heard through the hubbub that had gently begun to spread in the common room (which seemed to have been created just for that purpose). "I want to introduce the famous Harry Potter to those who do not know it, and here is his delightful friend, for those who would like to know her, Daphne Greengrass! I ask you, as a seeker of our team, and As proud Hufflepuff, let these two young snakes be welcomed tonight with all the hospitality of our house! "

Each of the poses of his speech was punctuated by applauses, mugs lifted up to heaven, and cheerful cries of approval. Harry smiled in the most friendly manner he could. Wich was more than enough, the boy's presence was radiating all arounf him.

"Thank you, Cedric, thank you for this attention!" Replied the green-eyed boy in the same tone of voice as his friend. "My friend and I have come this evening to wish good luck to our opponents of tomorrow, the merry and always good-living Hufflepuffs! I want to say that despite my dedication to my own team, you have to know I've never seen them play, I'll even admit that this is my first game of Quidditch, I know absolutely nothing at all ... "

A burst of laughter ran through the room. "So, for all I know we might be very bad, but I count on you to keep all this secret, the meeting would be a little spoiled otherwise."

Harry could almost feel that he was gaining sympathy from the room. It was exhilarating. The crowd answered his words as if he had been one of them, even though there was a little less joy than when Cedric spoke, which was logical since they knew him and he was one of their own. Cedric ended by inviting Harry and Daphne to his table where they began to discuss happily. Cedric explained the rules of Quidditch to Harry (who, though he never let her show it, found the sport dangerous and uninteresting), while a few years earlier surrounded Daphne and Cho, air of two awnings conversing politely only two first years the day before a game. Harry did not need to check to find out whether Daphne mentally noted any information Cho had provided them, either on her or on the others.

Harry finally managed to isolate Cedric in one corner of the room, ignored by all.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important." The boy began, his green eyes gleaming slightly, enough to accentuate the seriousness of his voice still too acute to actually make an impression.

Cedric gave him a curious look, his friendly smile on his lips. "Anything you want, Harry!"

"Well, after your intervention in the lobby and the discussion we had, I think the Eye would like your help."

Harry could clearly read the surprise in Diggory's eyes. "Are you...?"

"No, no. No one knows who he or she is, but we have received messages."

"Like those of the prefects?"

Harry nodded.

"You see, the eye is aware of everything that happens in the castle, because the eye is not a person. He wants you to help him, he saw that you were a good person and that you were in his favor. "

"I do not understand everything, it's not a person?"

Harry sighed. "If you accept the offer, go to the seventh floor, right wing of the castle, in front of a tapestry with trolls. Thought "a place to prepare". The appointment is next Tuesday, at 6 pm. Keep it secret from anybody for the moment, we will se about the rest later."

Cedric nodded and Harry stood up in a cape movement that would make Snape turn pale. "Good, well I think Daphne and I should go back before we get caught by the curfew. Good night, and good game!"

After saying goodbye to the few Hufflepuffs he knew better than the others, and managed to pull Daphne out of Cho Chang's claws, the two Slytherins walked to their common room.

"So?" Daphne asked in a low voice.

"He will come." Harry assured her; He had read it in Cedric's mind.

Daphne had a smirk. "Perfect."

Harry chuckled. She was determined.

"And on your side?"

The girl pointed her nose up, which she did whenever she reflected. "Mhm, Cho could be very useful, she's very popular with a whole bunch of girls at her feet that she uses to get and spread information. She spreads all sorts of rumors, and if we get her on our side ... She could be the first Ravenclaw of the group, but she's too close to Diggory so we can have one without sooner or later the other. Thinks it is the main reason for the success of the Nott mission ... "

"I see. We'll talk to Draco and Blaise. I'm going to introduce Granger and Longbottom to the House this weekend, and I think we should bring everyone together at the same time on Tuesday. Except Granger, it's still too soon for her. "

"I agree, but you will not need much to have Granger, you've already saved her life, and she has very few friends apparently. Not to mention that the young Weasley makes her life hard . "

"Yes, I thought I would play this leverage too, but she is still too close to the rules, and we will have to go slowly with her. Given her intelligence, it may be that she guess more than she should, and if it happened that would be a great loss, I think. Do you agree on her join us?"

"That's would be delightful," she said, "because she would be very useful for research at the library. I looked at the register the other day, that girl borrows more than anyone else in school! Well, exept you, but you out of ligue."

Harry stopped. "But surely, that's her weak point!"

Daphne gave him a strange look, caught up with him, and they started walking again. Still in a low voice, Harry explained, "She may be alone, but not enough to be desperate, but there's one thing she can not resist is knowing. She held one of my riddles for almost two weeks before even telling me her name ... yes it will be easier than I thought, seen from this angle."

Daphne was stunned. She used to be the one who handled, the one who noted the details in people and understood how they worked. But Harry, at only eleven, was of a different level. This gave the girl the desire to excel, but also to remain at his side. There was always something going on around Harry Potter, and there was one thing that Daphne hated most of all: boredom.

And then she agreed with the boy's ideas. She did not know how someone raised by Muggles could have a similarly constructed vision of the wizarding world, but she adhered to it. Contrary to the wishes of her parents, Daphne had always had a certain sympathy for Muggleborn babies. Simply because she refused not to see such an obvious source of power, a source of knowledge so little used ... and then she knew. Several members of his family had served the Dark Lord, but only a few had returned. She had heard stories, she had seen the brilliance in the eyes of her father. Of fear. She had never seen her father scared before he tried to tell her what he had lived alongside the Dark Lord. And she had promised herself one thing: she would do anything to go against that person who had destroyed her fayher. Because that's what he did. He had destroyed the pure-bloods. He had destroyed her family.

So she would fight against his ideas. And she would fight with Harry.

They were both so busy muttering that they nearly hit Dumbledore, who had appeared from nowhere as usual. Well, not exactly. Harry remembered a secret passage just a few yards away in the corridor. The idea of the headmaster using the secret passages as all the delinquents of the castle was hilarious, but also problematic. Very problematic indeed.

Harry looked up to meet the blue and sparkling headmaster. In surprise, he instinctively took Daphne's hand and stood in front of her, the wand raised but pointed to the ground. He lowered it immediately.

"Well Harry, what a reflex! What are you doing here on match's eve?"

It's obvious to Harry that they're not going to get away with it. He immediately regrets his reflex too well conditioned.

"We're going to wish good match to the Hufflepuff, professor." Replied the boy, his face becoming innocence itself.

"But is not tomorrow's match Hufflepuff versus Slytherin?"

"That does not stop you from being a good player, sir, especially when you have friends in the other team." Daphne's voice was hesitant, but she looked Dumbledore in the eyes. Harry refrained from smiling. She was telling the truth and the headmaster could verify it with slight legilimency, but he could not go far enough to know the real reasons without Daphne realizing it. She was gifted, dammit!

Dumbledore looked at their hands that were still clunch together and Harry saw a little smile stretch his lips, his eyes shining a little more.

He could play on it. Clearly, the old man was waiting for him to have friends, to play or even to fall in love with a pretty girl, in short, that he was a perfect little boy. Harry forced himself to blush and cast a pleading glance at the headmaster. Daphne quickly understood what he was doing and visibly bit her lips in false embarassement.

"I advise you to go back to your dormitories very quickly, both of us. Our very dear Filch is a bit on the nerves right now ..." he said with amusment.

Without waiting any longer, the two children continued their way in a false precipitation before being out of sight.

"You know what I mean when I said I had Dumbledore on my back?" Harry exhaled as they entered the crowded common room. All Slytherins were still encouraging and threatening their players. Harry thought that if the snakes win the cup every year it was more pace that their team was motivated to save their players from a painful fate than from real talent. He could clearly see their seeker shaking in a corner, harassed by the headboy, a tall, very tall young man.

"Yes, but how does he appear to appear like that?"

They both sat in their usual places and Harry noticed that he had not let go of his hand before. Draco and Blaise gave them a curious look.

"We met the old man." Harry explained. "I think he uses some secret passages to walk around the castle."

"Damn it ..." Blaise and Draco were doing a wizard's chess game, and Blaise caught his chin in his hand under concentration. "We'd have to find a way to keep him in the eye, too."

"In the ideal, but I think it's a little too powerful for us." Said Harry with a sneer.

"We'll find a way. We always find a way."

Harry nodded, and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He noticed that he had an armchair assigned wherever he went. He really had to pay attention to these little habits, but he couldn't help it.

"I think we have a weasel, a lion and possibly an eagle in the cage, we'll see for the others afterwards."

"Good game!" Draco agreed, before noticing that Blaise had discreetly changed his pawns when the boy had looked elsewhere.

Draco slowly raised his eyes to Blaise, who looked at him with a totally innocent air, swearing deeply with his features.

"Blaise Zambini?"

"Mhmmmyess?"

"I advise you to run."

"And why this, my dear?"

"Because in two minutes I'll make you regret not having had a sufficient education to prevent you from cheating." Draco replied in a cordial tone before getting up and throwing himself at his comrade.

The boy narrowly escaped him before rushing through the common room. After a few minutes, they both rolled on the floor, tickling, while the other Slytherins began to organize bets.

"That's very... un-Malfoyish." Whispered Daphne.

"Well, you know, I believe there is a little stupidly loud Griffindor in each and everyone of us." Laugh Harry.

She gave him a horrifyed look.

"We're doomed."

The stadium was filled with people screaming, shouting, jumping on the spot waving the different flags of the two houses competing. The players were not yet on the ground that already various objects were flying in all directions, especially on the Gryffindor side. But the Slytherin were not left behind and began a hymn in chorus, which gave the counter song a hymn of battle. Being in the crowd was ... gigantic. Harry sat in the midst of the other first-year Slytherin. He had sung with the others, got up with them, hand on the heart, beating the rhythm with his feet. Even Malfoy had joined the general joy. Harry finally understood what Quidditch meant for wizards. Tension rose. Harry greeted Cho with his hand, and she gave him a small smile, imitated by the whole band of girls who were with her.

Harry had taken advantage of the rush to slip a little paper into the pocket of each of the twins as well as Neville's, giving them the necessary information for Tuesday's appointment. He had charmed the papers so that they could only be read by the first person who had touched them (except their creator), and had made sure to brush their hands with them. The spell, P _rimum Vultus_ , was usually used for the little love's papers across the castle, but it was perfect for what Harry wanted to do with it. He had discovered it by stealing a notebook belonging to a sixth year which he did not know. Harry did not particularly like stealing, but most of the interesting magic books were out of the first year's grasp, and it was much easier to escape the vigilance of students kissing on the mouth ( or eating each other's soul he did not know) than that of the librarian with her piercing eyes. Not to mention the challenges, the adrenaline and the satisfaction of the crime. Harry was sometimes wondering if he would not accompany the twins on one of their escapades. He'd had to talk with them about te Dumbledore problem too.

Finally, the players entered the field, under the acclamations of the stadium. Seven green uniforms, followed by seven yellow ones, were positioned. Lee Jordan, a friend of the twins Harry had already noticed, commented on a craze, presented the players before the whistle sounded.

Immediately, all the players rose in the air, and the balls began to fly.

A seeker had been engaged in the Slytherin team at the last minute, and clearly it was bad. He was walking around on the pitch, overlooking the other players, desperately looking for the little golden ball with his only glare, while Cedric was doing the tricks, helping out the team and hindering the passing of the other players. It would have to be changed very quickly, it was ridiculous. However, the rest of the team worked perfectly.

The chasers were poking out any player on the opposing team who could catch the ball, causing several of them to burst into the walls of the bleachers. Flint was the captain of the team, which promised a violent and ruling game from the start, and guided the other players by screaming at them across the field. Harry even saw him take a bat from another player to send a bludger into the face of the opposing goalkeeper, who tumbled down to the floor in a big 'pouf' that made the spectators wince. On the one hand, Harry was angry at Flinch's behavior, which confirmed the bad reputation of his house, but of another ... the whole school was going to hate him forcefully again. The boy was booed, and still lifted his arms to the sky with pride.

He was stupid, even on the Flich's scale.

But the seeker was really bad. Harry suddenly understood the softness of the Hufflepuff. They did not let themselves be beaten without reason. They occupied the ground until their seeker fulfilled his office; It was the only way to win against Flinch. Faced with brute and stupid force, they had chosen to use their brain to stay within the rules. Slytherin had no chance at all. It was a battle of two different games: on one side Flinch tried to put more points, and on the other Diggory, who was looking for the golden snitch. And in fact, the whole team was looking for him, throwing information every time they crossed each other. They helped each other out.

And it worked. At the end of an hour, Cedric flew only a few centimeters from the golden ball. Flinch tried to fly to the seeker to make him fall from his broomstick, but the whole Hufflepuff team, who had lost interest in the number of balls flying through its hoops, blocked the road, turned him away, even attacked him sometimes. It was violent. It was beautiful. The flight dresses were flying in all directions, the sweat ran down their foreheads, their hair was ruffled, and their faces reddened by the cold. They shouted, they made signs, completely unconscious of the world around them, all fixed on a single point: to win. And the crowd screamed with one voice, raised flags, and sang. The professors tried to keep the calm and severity of their rank and profession, but Harry could clearly see Dumbledore tapping, Macgonagall clapping his hands and Snape lifting his eyebrow with more enthusiasm than usual.

All the energy of the castle was dragged by the match. Harry now admired the players who were flying in the air. It was something that no Muggle could do. It was something to them. A moment when all the wizards forgot that they were few, divided, constantly on the edge of the abyss and showed their strength. Show their ability to be united as one man. That was all Harry was dreaming about, but not for the right reasons. It was an ephemeral moment that showed him his goal. It was possible. He could do it, they could all get there. They could stand, they could fight.

Cedric grabbed the snitch in a remarkable flight, jumping from his broomstick over another player to fall on it a few meters further, a movement worthy of a Gryffindor. The whole stadium exploded in a shout of joy (except the Slytherin, though Harry allowed himself to applaud sincerely when Cedric's gaze landed on him, bowing his head in congratulation).

The return with the Slytherins took place in a disappointed silence. Harry did not give much of the catcher's skin; He knew better than anyone how his snake friends could be ... insistent when it came to success, especially on behalf of their home. Harry listened and whispered around him. Yes, the poor boy was going to spend a dirty week. It must have been for this reason that the first game of the Slytherins had been placed so close to the holidays. But the seeker was not the only one on the bench. The captain of the team had chosen him, he had guided, ordered all his players to play as they had, and was therefore responsible for the defeat. Obviously Nott, whom the captain had taken under his wing at the beginning of the year, defended him as best he could, but he himself was not in a position to shatter. All the female members of Slytherins remembered the humiliation they had suffered, and the whole house was in the face of the dishonor it had provoked. For there were two things that the Slytherins could not bear: that one of theirs was attacked, and in particular the internal disputes were very quickly settled, and that one allowed himslef to get caught.

By spying on the toilet, Nott had stained the Slytherins with a gesture contrary to the tacit rules, and besides had the nerve to get caught! No, clearly, he was not ready to be pardoned.

That was why the eye quickly gained respect among the snake's pit. True, he had denounced one of theirs, but especially he had outsmart a snake, and had applied proper justice to someone who dared to commit a crime as ... trivial.

As a result, each of his protests earned him black glances, insults. Someone even pushed him at a moment, and he fell on the buttocks in the snow. A second year was ready to put his fist in his face when Harry stopped him. The girl glared at him.

"He deserves it!" She exclaimed, obviously at the end of her nerves before the arrogant attitude of Nott.

"Yes, but you do not deserve to go to detention because of him. The Eye will take care of it."

Blaise's warm voice gave an almost prophetic dimension to this phrase, and Harry sniggered inwardly. No matter what Blaise could said, he always said it like it was some sort of profecy, with a voice far too deep for his age. It was actually very pleasant to hear him talking, when it wasn't about stuff that could happen to you.

"I agree." Daphne had caught up with them, after congratulating Cho on the victory of her boyfriend. She moved gracefully in the snow, or rather the snow was moving away with reverence from under her feet, unworthy of her touch. She wore perfectly cut black trousers, with a green sweater that obviously matched her robes, and an elequant cape in a military cut, black with golden patterns. Her obscidian hair was lifted up from his skull and looped back on her right shoulder. She looked at Nott with such contempt that Harry was surprised that the boy did not turn into a cockroach.

The second year ended by lowering her fist before the assurance of his peers. Other students stopped to watch the scene and agreed.

Harry held out his hand. "Harry Potter." He presented himself.

"Flora Carrow, and the other girl behind you with my face is Hestia Carrow, my twin." Harry greeted them both with a hand kiss, paying no attention to Nott who was standing up and swearing.

"Flora, Hestia, I can only advise you to keep your cool in front of this kind of people. If we, Slytherin, begin to fight with our hands, the wizarding world is lost." His remark made the two girls laugh. They were tall, even for their age, fairly common face, brown hair cut at their shoulders and eyes of a soft gray. But the most striking thing was that their minds worked exactly the same way, much like the Weasley twins; by shaking hands in turn, Harry had had a complete sentence.

It was really fascinating how the magical twins worked. Daphne offered his arm to one of the twins, and the other naturally took the other arm. They all got back into their dormitories with no more trouble than some of the Gryffindors' mockery, who regretted it when they began to receive a shower of stupefies from the twins. The two girls were obviously quick to fight, and immediately became friends with the fierce Daphne, wich was telling them the best way to kick a man's balls without having to raise a leg in an inappropriate manner. Harry promised himself to never, never in his life insult one of these women, at least for his own safety, and seeing Draco and Blaise's expressions, he knew he wasn't the only one that had came to this conclusion. Even Crabbe and Goyle, which were following them and arguing about food, kept a respectfull distance between them and the girls.

Harry had spent his Saturday afternoon working at the library. He had risen early to advance his homework, and made use of the work Quirell had given them to search among the sections of the upper years, copying all the spells, runes or recipes of potions that he found useful and that he would learn later. For this, Draco had ordered from his father a certain number of small notebooks which the whole band filled with information, which they then classified in recipes, preciously kept in the Room of Requierment, in a new room they had created for the occasion, some sort of competing library, which was, however, for the time being a little thin.

Harry had created a double background to the room and placed copies of the books Quirell had given him, just in case. He did not want the professor to be blamed if someone reached the library, and he didn't want someone to discover to what extent he was working on magic.

Harry felt strangely close to Quirell. They did not talk much, but they looked at each other. Harry saw that he was suffering, and sometimes sent his magic to relieve him when the teacher was about to faint in class. Several times Harry had stayed behind in the room. They had contented themselves with reading one beside the other, or flattening leaves and flowers in the notebooks which the Quirell always kept on him. It was a delicate art, which only asked for hands, and allowed Harry to stop thinking, for an hour or two. He suspected that was also why Quirell was doing it. Harry could do nothing for him; the man had sealed his own destiny by agreeing to wear Voldemort, but he could relieve him. Make him feel he was not alone. He almost wanted to offer him a small card "welcome to the club of people harassed by a psychopath Dark Lord, take tea and make yourself at home!". At first he wondered if Voldemort was seeing all Quirell was doing, but he could feel that the energy of the Dark Lord was very low during the day. Harry guessed that Quirell lived the day and Voldemort at night, with a few exceptions, like when they tried to steal anything that was hidden in that damn castle, or when the entity wanted something very special.

There was nothing uncomfortable in those moments of silence. Harry felt calm, safe. They were like two wounded wishing to the stars. Quirell was not a man whose company could normally be appreciated: his manners were strange, his voice trembling, his eyes fleeing and his attempts at disastrous humor. But in those moments, quietly seated, concentrated on his dried flowers, all that disappeared. It was edifying how fear and pain could change someone. And how a little peace had just as much power. But every time Quirell's hands shook, every ime he couldn't hold an object remided him the truth.

Harry James Potter was silently sitting at one of the library's tables, alone. He had spread several books before him at different pages. All dealt with the _Protego_ , but in different ways.

Harry had a theory about this spell, which was probably the one he used the most for now. It was basic, to make a withdrawal movement with the wand while saying the spell. For the shield to be strong, it was necessary to put more will, more urgency. The _Protego_ was therefore a fighting spell, which operated on instinct and rapidity so that on construction and concentration, thus requiring the use of a magic previously made available rather than reserves. However, Harry could not believe that such an important spell could not and was not improved. So he had begun to search.

And Harry, when he began to ask himself a question, could not leave it in suspense. Besides, the history of Flammel annoyed him to the highest point. If a legilimens had succeeded in reaching his mind, he would have gone out very quickly under pain of being interrogated on the various information that Harry could not find.

The young boy was totally absorbed, his green eyes fixing his parchments as if to threaten him if he dared not find the solution he was looking for, or moving at a crazy speed from page to page. His uncontrollable hair, which he had not yet cut, fell into black strands in front of his face. No one dared to approach him, but several students watched him, fascinated. He looked like a knight after the battle. He wrinkled his nose under the concentration, ran his hand through his hair, ruffled them even more, pinched his lips, his fine fingers running through the lines of his books. He spread ... a feeling of serene calm around him.

Ananta was wrapped around his forearm. Harry had finally found a way to temporarily reduce her size so that he could again take him with him everywhere, to the greatest joy of the serpent. The little ones now managed enough not to need her constantly, and they could find her through the castle if need be; In any case they were too busy watching the prefects, an activity they adored, since it reminded them of a sort of group hunt. They were good enough to hunt small animals, like rodents, and Harry had read somewhere that their venom was powerful and fast.

Ananta whistled softly, slipping under his sleeve to snuggle against his neck. Harry had forbidden her to lift her head as she usually did, for fear of the reaction that it might cause. But he was happy to have his friend again with him. He had missed her insults to the world and her obsession for food, and he felt more protected when she was here.

He felt that someone had sat opposite him and was about to tell him politly to get-the-fuck-out, when he noticed that it was Granger. She had put down a heavy bag of books that threatened to overflow in the chair next to her, and had thrown herself more than sitting on her own.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Why the hell did she carry so many books? It was enough to organize his readings to never have more than one or two works in his bag while keeping the same rhythm. It must have been for that kind of nonsense that she had not gone to Ravenclaw. The girl was smart- but incredibly stupid.

She took out a parchment and began to write frantically. Harry did not pay more attention to her and went back to his research. She blew, almost throwing her pen out of frustration. Harry got up and stood behind his shoulder to see her work. It was the test Snape had given them and had already finished.

"You've made a mistake here." He said, pointing at a line.

She jumped up and looked at him in surprise. Harry kept his face neutral, but he was annoyed.

"You're afraid of me?" He said slowly, without a voice hardly stronger than a sigh.

She looked down and blushed. "Why?"

"That ... I do not know ... you talk to the snakes!"

Harry sighed inwardly. He had believed it above that, and obviously he had been mistaken. "And?"

"Only black magicians speak to snakes!" Slazar Slytherin was talking to snakes, it's something bad ... "

Her voice was really annoying.

Harry leaned his head to the side to observe her better. Her hair was tangled, there was food left in the corner of her mouth, and spots of ink on her hands. "I saved your life." It was a statement, a fact. He had sent her with such simplicity that she immediately lowered her eyes with shame. He pushed the bag of the chair and sat down instead. He had difficulty repressing his resentment. When Granger challenged him, he had hoped to find a spirit capable of facing even greater challenges. But no.

"You read that in a book, right?"

She nodded. "Tell me, you say that since Slytherin was talking to snakes, it's a bad thing ... yet his name, his house are still at Hogwarts, we always let students follow his teachings. He created this school, in the same way and on an equal footing with the three greatest wizards of his time, his friends, and created this school so that it could be a refuge for wizards. Does he deserves less respect than others under the pretext of some disharmony of values? I don't think so. I think that when one rejects someone for fear of one's capacity one acts like the supremacists who have triggered the last. We act like muggles. " She looked up at him. He had spoken to her in a soft, almost tender voice. "You can not blame me for something I was born with, or you are like those who call you mudblood."

Harry's eyes were hypnotizing. Watching him was like drowning in an ocean of magic. An ocean of uninterrupted green ... because he did not blink. His gaze remained fixed on that of the young girl. Determined. He read in her that she felt ashamed of her reaction. Especially she had not been afraid of Ananta when she had seen her. He had defended her, he had saved her, he had proved his good intentions. She would have been wary if it had only been for her, but no, it was just ... just nice to everyone. He was calming, warm. He had been brought up by muggles. Oh, how she was ashamed, it was because of Weasley, by dint of hearing him grumbling about Potter, she had finally believed ... and the books she had read ... But the boy who was in front of her was only a boy. He would not hurt a fly.

"Sorry." She had found the courage to look him in the eye and say that. He gave her a smile, and then turned his attention to the unfinished homework that had been left on the table.

The girl was gifted. But he knew that. However, it lacked practical logic. This was to serve her in matters less strict than potions, but not with Snape's severity. She had not really made a mistake, it was more ... a series of approximations. He already imagined the potion professor sneering at the imperfection of the copy of the well-known 'know-it-all'. His hatred of the Gryffindors was truly fascinating. Harry shivered at thet thought of Snape discovering that he was a Griffondor by name and blood. After explaining his mistake to the girl, Harry went back to his seat and plunged back into his work.

Harry had been destabilized by Granger's new doubts. Certainly he had not really worked on it, he did not have time to do everything, but at last ... He felt it as ingratitude. He was not even angry, he was disappointed. She had neither friends nor protection and she thought she could afford to refuse! Gryffindor, definitely Gryffindor. She was acting on feelings, not with her head. And even her feels shouldn't be against him.

And there was something else: obviously, Weasley had not calmed down as much as he had hoped ... Harry hesitated to push him to the fault because of twins, which besides being extremely useful in his plans and a wealth of information on how to circumvent the rules of Hogwarts, were quite sympathetic. Harry did not know how attached they were to their brother. In families like this, the ties were often or very close or very distand. He just didn't want to make mistakes.

The same problem arose with Professor Snape. Harry would have preferred to play the innocent bin fornt of him - he still could to some extent ... But the urgency had made him reveal so much that in the end Snape would be more useful to the real Harry rather than that pale Dumbledore's ghost the old man loved so much. Harry knew he was holding him by his emotions. He had seen the mask split when he said he remembered. It was his assurance of loyalty far more than any vow or threat. But Harry did not know where it came from ... a Death Eater would have supposedly been more attracted by his power, by his eyes, but Snape had other reasons. It was clear. And Harry, like every time he did not know something, was frustrated. Whatever it was it sure would come with time. Tha man would stay silent for the moment.

And if he didn't... well, sadly, Harry had ressources.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Harry waited patiently for the night to fall. He had settled comfortably in the living room of the House, Ananta, who had resume his original size, was coiled up on his stomach. He was already in his "combat" outfit. His uniform was clearly not made to fight, and he needed to hide his face, just in case. He had therefore made an outfit by binding various pieces of cloth more or less random, which was more suitable. It was clearly flawed, but it would hold for now. His outfit consisted of a very long black T-shirt, wide, belted pants tucked into his boots, and a hood that he magically held on his head, as well as a bandana converted into a mask to hide the bottom his mouth. In addition to being more practical, it was much more discreet in the shadows of the corridors. And at least that way he was sure the paintings would not report it to Dumbledore, and so he could go through any corridor without squatting in a ridiculous manner.

Harry pat the serpent with a distracted hand, thinking about his future strategy. Until then, he had simply survived, escaped from the spells as he could, but he had never had the opportunity to think during the fight. And he suspected that in real situations, walking only on reflexes could cost lives. Especially his.

Quirrell, if it was indeed Quirrell, was very aggressive. He attacked directly, and remained on the ground except when he had no choice. Harry had also noticed that he could not pass some passages, probably protected by magical walls. This meant that he used magic to move around ... Perhaps the best way of escaping him was to use as little as possible? After all, he himself could feel and locate a great source of magic, and Quirrell was undeniably accustomed to his borrowing ... But he remained a wizard. Accustomed to wizards's manners, completely blind to the rest, like Draco or Blaise. Harry was not like that.

That was his strength. The surprise. Not in the direct sense, but the surprise in the way he could do things. It was not a duel, there were no rules except to not get caught.

Harry smirked. His strength was his Mugle side, oh the irony!

Feeling the appreciation of her master, Ananta nestled a little more against him, whistling slightly. She had to think of catching mice, or one of his strange and delicious creatures that pulled into Hogwarts kitchens. What was their name already? Ha yes, Elves. Ananta found the Elves delicious, even though her master had told her not to eat too much, and to do so discreetly. But the serpent refused to attack those who lived in the nest of her one-eyed master. Everything that was in the nest was part of the nest. And a serpent worthy of the name never attacked its own nest.

Harry was waiting, trying to calm his heart. He put himself in a meditating position. There were no rules. Until then, nothing had happened to him but he knew well that the spells that were thrown him were more and more dangerous, simply because he was able to block the weaker ones. And he did not forget who was in front of him. He had a great affection for Quirrell, but the Dark Lord ... he was not known for his sweetness, nor for his pity, much less for his patience. Deep down, Harry knew he risked his life if he disappointed him.

Yet the boy had no intention of joining the Dark Lord. Learning from him, yes, to make him an ally momentarily, perhaps, but join him ... No. Harry would not kneel before the man who had killed his parents. Even if he didn't grudge him for that. He was not afraid of the Dark Lord. He would not obey him. He would not obey anyone. And the man was crazy. It was sweating. As soon as Harry saw the pain in the eyes of his professor of defence against the Dark Arts, as soon as he felt the Dark Lord's energy near him, warming his scar, as soon as he thought about what he had seen in the forest, Harry knew. The boy would not call himself a sane man, but the Lord had ... he had broken the barriers of his own mind.

Harry felt it was his fault, but no. He had not forced the Dark Lord to attack him, to kill his parents. And above all, he did not think that the most powerful wizard this world had ever carried could have been killed by a single baby, for no reason. There was something else, something that had nothing to do with Harry. Something had happened that night. But Harry's memory was for the very least sporadic.

He concentrated on the darkness of his own mind. He could feel his memories around him, blurred, slashed, and yet remaining.

A woman with long red hair, whom he had identified as his mother. She smelled like a flower, yet she smelled like fear. A scream underneath, somewhere, a man. The woman sang and wept. She put him somewhere, wrapped him in a blanket. Then shouts. He heard His voice whistling, calm, menacing, like the winter's cold. A green flash. Then the voice came back. He did not know what he had told him, but he had spoken to him, gently. More gently than Harry had ever heard anyone talk. Something touched his head, and then a wand was pointed at him. A green light, all around him, cold, soft, all around him, like mother's arms, but it didn't hurt. Arms around him. Black sails, something that seemed like nothing. Of nothing, and yet so much. And then a breath, a scream, his, and that was it.

To think of it filled Harry with calm. At first, he was sad, then panicked, then nothing. He had seen, he had already glimpsed what was on the other side. And he knew he had nothing to fear. For him, at least.

But something was missing.

An alarm came out of his thoughts. The castle had fallen asleep, and it was time for him to go out.

Harry concentrated. He had to visualize his magic, that's it. A veil of energy flowing through his body, which was concentrated in the organs and hands. It was singing. He had to silence it... no, rather make it sing in silence. He softens it. He calmed it down. She was in every pores of his being. It was so beautiful! He concentrated it, then made it more diffuse. It was hard. He was in pain, suddenly he did not understand why. His bones cracked ... and shit.

Of course. His magic repaired him, so moving it away or making it more diffuse risked breaking the balance he had found. He sighed, relaxing his grip a little. It was still that, but it was unperfect. Harry hated unperfection when it was about magic.

Harry went out into the corridor, melting into the shadows. He was breathing with the walls, walking with the whole castle. He had the feeling that the castle was protecting him, and he was hiding himself in this protection.

He did not need to concentrate on where Quirrell was. He felt the magic of the Dark Lord, he could spot it even through all the magical signatures that roamed the castle. It was different, it was so different. Something superior, and so much inferior at the same time. Inhuman, in every sense of the term. It echoed through the walls, it pulsed in the ground. It was the only magic he was able to truly identify. It was fascinating, like a candle for an insect.

Harry followed the trail. He shuddered. He pulled out a rope, and held it across one of the corridors. Filch was not a problem, the twins had prepared him a little surprise in another part of the castle where he usually began his rounds.

Harry made sure the rope was tight and almost invisible.

He slightly shifted the torches so that the halo of light did not fall directly on it. Quirrell was near. Harry sat down on the other side of the corridor and let out a flange of magic.

The professor arrived, more and more quickly. He hid his own magic, but the energy of Voldemort ... that he could not. Simply because the Dark Lord did not have to hide his energy, others hid from him.

Even half-dead the man's ego stood still.

Quirrell was on the other side of the corridor. Harry cast a Protego. First, weak, the one that was taught in class.

Obviously, Quirell's spells destroyed the shield and Harry had to avoid a few hexes, taking care not to stay in the same area.

Quirell kept advancing. "You're better than that, usually, snakeling ..."

Harry did not listen. He continued to avoid spells, blocking some with his shield, which kept breaking. Then, suddenly, he ran. As if he were running away. As soon as he reached the intersection, he wasn't in Quirell' sight anymore.

And he climbed onto the wall.

One might have thought that it was impossible, but the Hogwarts's walls were full of rough edges, palliums, amount, and above all imbibed with magic.

Once high, Harry slipped on a cornice and returned to the level of Quirell, who had actually fallen, his feet caught in the rope.

Then Harry jumped. He threw his most powerful Protego, and an ellipse of white light appeared around him as he fell on Quirell. The professor threw a few spells at him, but he did not gauge his power under the panic and habit of the boy's weak shields, and none of them succeeded in piercing this one. Flashes of red, orange bounced against it.

Harry landed right next to Quirrell and almost enjoyed his victory when a stronger spell sent him bump against the wall across the hall.

He had dropped his shield too soon.

Harry tried to get up, but another spell strike him violently against the wall. He felt blood flowing in the back of his skull. No head turned, and everything was blurred around him. There was pressure against his chest. Another spell, the wall, the blood. His breath was no more than useless jolt. He had to get out of there.

His wand. Had he dropped it? No. No, it was in his hand. First, the spell, then, run. It was simple, but his ears whistled. He had trouble concentrating, he just wanted to slip into unconsciousness ... Nononono Harry. You're worth much more than that. First, the spell, then run.

But if Vernon catches him? He would beat him. The child would feel the pain in all of his body and mind. He heard his bones surrender, his deseperate's lungs crying for a gasp of air. The bruises the cut, the laugh. No? no. The man was dead, dead and in pieces, buried, in ashes. And Harry, Harry had to keep fighting. For it to never happen again.

Never.

"Protego!"

Harry had murmured it with the force of despair. Immediately, a white light formed a circle in front of him. Leaning on the wall, he took his swing and began to run, praying not to fall. He needed a place where He would not follow him.

He felt his magic healing him, but he would need painkillers. He didn't have the energy to check if He was following him. Right, Left, one step after another. Shit, the stairs. He clearly didn't have the balance to climb the stairs normally. He must have fallen once or twice in the process, but he managed not to break anything.

His steps had instinctively carried him to the dungeon. He noticed it only when the cold air made him shudder. He trembled. He had been so close to the goal, so close to winning, so close to being defeated. Harry chuckled. He had succeeded in bringing Him down. He did not know if anyone had ever tried the experiment and was still alive to say it, but he was proud of it. Despite the pain that pulsed in his skull.

He reached the potions laboratory door. He could have gone to the hospital wing, but that was precisely where the dear Hogwarts guard was "busy." Harry tried to open the door. Locked.

" _Alohomora_."

The lock lighted up slightly, but there was no click. Obviously, Snape had to strengthen the door's protection. Harry laid his head against the cold stones of the wall. He could not even imagine breaking Snape's spell, the man was far too powerful, and Harry did not even know which one he had used.

What to do? He would not be able to get up tomorrow, the most important day, if he found no painkiller now. He could always call Gladis, but he preferred her at the manor, with Damien, just in case.

He sighed.

"You should not be outside the dorms at this hour young man."

Harry jumped, hearing the ethereal voice so close to his ear.

The Bloody Baron. Of course, after he managed to avoid all the humans in this castle, he had to be caught by a ghost.

"Sure enough, Sir, I should not." The boy replied gently.

"You know, Mr. Potter, I forbade Peeves to follow you."

Harry turned him around and gave him a questioning look. It was known that the Bloody Baron was the only one to control Peeves, that unbearable poltergeist who spent his life bothering and denouncing the students. But why did the ghost protect Harry, and did he tell him now?

The Baron looked at him with a strangely alive look. Ghostly blood dripped from its transparent silhouette. He looked sad, but the Bloody Baron always looked sad. Like most ghosts ... Well, Harry couldn't blame them. They were dead, and couldn't move on.

"You see, Mr. Potter, I've seen a lot of pupils go through since I was here, that is, from the foundation of Hogwarts. Some wanted power, others wanted knowledge, many wanted glory. None of them interested me, all of them claimed the founders. They wanted to be leaders, the be famous, rich, to see others bow, to find a cute girl or a pretty boy, to have a family, to be praised, admired. I knew the founders, and they have nothing to do with that, I can tell you. But you, Mr. Potter, want justice. " The Baron showed his bloody wound with a weary air.

"I am one of those, Mr. Potter, who defends justice. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, eh?"

Harry nodded. "It is rare for criminals to demand justice..." He noted.

"And I'm sure you're the type of person who is able to make that understand ..."

"You place a lot of faith in an eleven-year-old, sir." The boy was sarcastic, but he truly wondered.

The Baron glanced at him, and went away without a word. Harry was petrified by the possibilities that offered him this conversation. He had never thought of having the ghosts on his side!

But this did not solve his immediate problem, which was becoming more and more immediate as he felt the pressure increase inside his skull. In despair, he tried to open the door with his hand.

It worked. Harry silently thanked the Bloody Baron and slipped into the potions laboratory.

" _Lumos_."

Harry closed the wooden door and moved to the reserve on tiptoe. He knocked against a few tables, his balance degrading as the migraine went up. He swore between his teeth.

Somehow, he came to the part of the lab where Snape put his potions in. Several rows of glass vials were lined up. The boy disdained those that had obviously been prepared by the students, shivering as he thought about what might happen if he came across something prepared by poor Neville Longbottom. The boy had managed to melt his cauldron last time.

The potion he sought was transparent, and lightly gilded. But in the light of the wand, it was hard, very hard to tell the difference between the different colours. Harry started turning over the bottles that seemed to suit him, trying to decipher the etiquette, but his vision was still unstable due to the shock. He had no right to make mistake.

His hands were shaking.

Visibly, he was more touched than he had at first believed. Maybe an internal bleeding? He wasn't used to magical wounds. Maybe it healed differently...

But above all, the damage to the head was the worst. The last time he had broken his skull, he had fainted for two days before recovering. He could still remember the rancid sent of sweat and alcohol, and his uncle had finally come to wake him by force. Harry was soaked, a water seal had been thrown over him, and he imagined that his uncle had to do it every morning when he saw that the child had not got up to prepare his food. Harry shook his head to keep away bad thoughts. All this was behind him now.

He continued to search.

"Can I help you, _Potter_?"

If Harry was not so rattled, he would have jumped.

"Yes, actually, I'm looking for a potion against concussions. Tell me, do you often sneak behind people like that?"

"As the Notorious dungeon bat, that is indeed part of my attributions. And why, Mr. Potter, do you need such a potion at ... two o'clock in the morning, please?"

"It seems, dear tutor-to-be, that, because of circumstances the complexity of which exceeds the urgency of the moment, I am affected of the aforementioned wound myself and look for a solution to remedy the disastrous consequences which risks bringing, in particular my next faint."

The irony between the two was so strong that it was almost palpable. The lights in the room light up and Harry narrowed his eyes in pain. Snape was waiting for him a little further, his arms folded.

"Sit down, Potter." His tone was a little less cold. Harry obeyed and sat down on one of the class tables, his back turned towards his teacher. He felt Snape's thin fingers spreading the black, sticky locks of blood from the wound. He had to hold back a shiver, be he let the man continue. At first, he was surprised at how much Snape's behaviour was different when he was healing someone. He who was always tense, aggressive, abrupt, became soft, precise, delicate. Harry was far too prosaic to believe that Snape really cared about his patient's comfort, it was rather the passion for his art that transfigured his manners. The boy did not complain. Since it was necessary to allow a person to touch him, at least it is not someone with the grace of Hagrid.

Still, he could fell the man's gaze on his neck.

"Your wound seems to be healed."

"Yes, but there was internal damage. My magic can repair the blood-skewers, but not remove the blood that has already dripped, hence the need for a potion. I have a million things to do and I really, really can't afford to end at the hospital wing."

A potion appeared in his hand, and, under Snape's insistent glance, Harry drank it. He was a bit too paranoid to enjoy drinking potions that he had not tested before, but if Snape had wanted to hurt him, Harry was certain that the situation would have already degenerated, and that he would have done it in a much less obvious manner. Like poison, or a discreet hex, or blaming him for something a let him rot "accidentally" in the donjons.

The liquid was bitter and heavy on his tongue. The boy could not help making a face, who drew a mocking smile on Snape's lips. Harry glared at him and get up.

"Who did that to you?" Snape's voice was inquisitive, but Harry couldn't, he just couldn't tell him. Not now, not in this way.

"I tripped."

It was an awful lie, both knew it. But somehow, Snape let him go with it.

"Then I guess it would be detention for being out of bed at night and snaking into the lab. Let's say, Wednesday, 8 pm sharp." The boy rolled his magnificent green eyes.

"Yes sir."

He returned into his dorm, changed and fell asleep before even touching his pillow.

Snape was furious, of course. Furious that a pupil had entered his precious laboratory. Furious that the student in question dares to disrespect him and use irony on his face. Furious that the pupil had lied to him by looking him in the eyes. Furious that this student is nothing but a bloody Potter. And what was with this strange outfit?

But most of all, he was furious about seeing Harry bleed again. He had promised once to protect the kid, he had failed.

Then he had discovered his failure, and he had made that promise again. This time he had made it to himself. This time he had done it to the child.

And tonight, there was blood again on the white and angelic face of Harry Potter. Because that was Potter was, angelic. Pure, innocent, everybody could see that. Of course, a little voice in Snape's head reminded him that the boy was probably not innocent at all, and downright terrifying when he wanted to, but right now, all Snape could see was a wounded child.

Someone had blasted the child he was in charge of, and this almost under his eyes. Harry would not talk. Snape knew that. He himself had never spoken. He had to find out who had done that. Who had dared to attack a child at Hogwarts, who had dared to hurt this boy who was already in pieces.

Snape frowned. Never in his career had he ever allowed a child to be wounded in his custody. That was his limit. He loved to trap them, certainly, to terrify them if they had to, these damn teenagers and their empty heads.

But the person who touched one of his snakes was going to pay. It was that simple. He who had dared to lay a single phalanx on Lily's son, the last trace on earth of what he had loved most in the world, this one was going to beg.

When he left his room in the dungeons to make his round, the phantoms found astonishment things to do elsewhere and the characters in the pictures could not be seen anywhere (they are said to have found refuge in the great Table representing Salazar Slytherin and Godric Griffondor, who sat in the personal library of the headmaster, for the misfortune of the first and the greatest joy of the second).

No one wanted to be on the way to an angry Snape.

Harry led his day in the expectation of the evening. He felt the excitement of his comrades, especially Draco, who could not help but smile as soon as he met one of their accomplices. Harry noticed that he should point out this behaviour, but he did not stop it.

Thanks to the potion Snape gave him, he did not suffer from cranial trauma. During lunch, he felt Quirell cast anxious glances at him, and he winked discreetly to indicate that he was fine and that there was no rancour. A few hours earlier, Harry was actually angry with the teacher and / or Voldemort, but the more he thought about it, the more futile it was. If he had made the mistake in a real duel to let his shield fall too soon, he would probably be dead, or worse, captured and sent to Azkaban. If Harry did not want to suffer any more, if he did not want anyone to hurt him, then he had to become stronger, smarter, more experienced. Meanwhile, he still had Snape's potions to repair the damage.

As always, Harry spent his lessons with a mask of curious attention on his face, which contrasted with Draco's bored disdain. He knew that was why the professor loved him. For them, he was a smiling little angel who paid particular attention to their course.

In truth, he was deeply bored. He had already learned all of that, and even more. He only expected one thing: the evening meeting. The castle was becoming colder and colder, and everything began to be decorated for the winter's solstice (since the wizards did not really celebrate Christmas). However, to Harry's great surprise, the traditions were similar: an immense pine tree had been dragged into the hall by Hagrid, and Professor MacGonagall, assisted by Flitwick, decorated it with multi-coloured balls and wreaths. The ghosts sang hymns in the corridors, and the pictures began to offer presents when they visited. The snowmen were still aggressive, but it was so fun to see them chasing Flinch across the ground.

But the most obvious sign that Christmas was approaching was Dumbledore. Harry would have loved to be warned, since obviously, all the teachers were aware of the "problem".

The headmaster loved Christmas. In fact, it was more like a fixet. Between the night of Monday and Tuesday, dozens of socks, well after a lot of debates, Blaise and Daphne had ended up naming them "socks" for lack of other word, appeared on absolutely all the chimneys of Hogwarts. Then it started. Dumbledore had arrived at dinner in the most hideously magnificent outfit Harry had ever seen. It consisted of flamboyant green robes, which covered a long tunic of an aggressive red, itself piqued with blue and gold motifs for some reason.

Dumbledore was wearing an orange scarf that made all the Gryffindors in the room turn pale, and he had braided his fabulous silver hair and his beard of transparent snowflake jewellery. Harry had almost heard the little cry of pain when Macgonagall had laid eyes on the old man, and he could clearly feel confusion and general despair among his teachers. That was the most powerful wizard in the world. Actually, other person would have looked like a perfect fool in this outfit, but Dumbledore always managed to radiate calm, power and gentleness.

Harry was persuaded that there was something evil underneath. No one but a demon could have thought of putting those clothes together! And the people who had sold them to him, had they no soul or where they were too frightened that Dumbledore would buy something even worse to say no? Harry could not help but fix the old man in a kind of morbid fascination. No one with a sane mind and without a knife under the throat would allow such thing to happen. Was that what magic did to people? Or maybe it was some kind of Griffondorish resurgence...?

The professor got up at the end of the meal and made a great speech on peace, friendship, and family, and how they all had to dance more or less in a bath of light, or something of that sort. He ended with a few words about how light always defeated the darkness, when Harry almost choked and hardly kept an admiring glance, then sat down in a big sleeve movement, finally closing his arms as usual opened to try to hug all his students at the same time, his eyes twinkling like ever before.

Harry still didn't know if he hated him. He wished he could hate him fully, truly, but... but he knew, Merlin, he knew something was off. Of course, he admired the man for his brain, his magic, his power, but he had the feeling of something darker in the man. In the same way, somehow, he admired the Dark Lord. The man had won a duel with Grindelwald!

But, unlike Voldemort, his motives were more than blurry. Harry only wished that the man had a reason to make him suffer like that. Something to understand. Maybe he coul forgive him one day, in a way. Or just hate him. Not being in this middle ground, not knowing what to do, exept for being extra carfull and keeping a plan in ming to make the man fall.

Harry walked to the seventh floor as if there was nothing more normal, greeting the paintings he knew, and plunged into the Room of Requirement. He had made sure that he could come a little before everyone else to make changes. The room was too Slytherin to please all its guests, and not enough welcoming. Moreover, it bore no sign of its belonging and looked more like private apartments than a real meeting room.

He passed three times in front of the door, keeping his wish in mind, then went in to see the result.

He, well the castle, but under his orders, had transformed the entrance into a large room of light grey stone, with in front of the wooden door a fireplace. On either side of the fireplace were banners displaying the colours of the four houses. In the middle of the room stood a small table, as always surrounded by sofas (there was nothing better to coax teenagers than a comfortable seat). Harry had arranged the sofas, or rather asked the castle to do so, so that there was no table end and they all sat in a semblance of equality. He had deposited the large map of Hogwarts on the right wall, and a tapestry representing the four founders on the other. The ceiling was made of white arches similar to those of the hall, although much lower. And above all, just above where the students would sit, there was a giant eye sculpted in stone. Harry added an illusion spell that would give the impression that the eye would look out of sight anyone who would look at it.

Harry sat down on one of the sofas, a book in his hand, and waited.

As he had foreseen, Neville was the first to go through the large wooden doors. Harry let him go forward and look around him, his mouth wide open in astonishment, before coughing softly to signal his presence.

The poor boy jumped before a shy smile came to illuminate his round face. With an uncertain step, he sat down beside Harry, his hands between his knees. He looked around as if he had no place here.

Harry frowned. Or rather, a slight crease formed on his forehead before disappearing under the calm and relaxed air he sported.

He closed his book and put it on the table.

"So, you got the message?" He asked with knowing look. The boy nodded.

Harry was gifted to notice things in people. And one thing was certain, there was a problem in Neville Longbottom. The boy kept his eyes fixed on the ground, a solid shade of red rising on his cheeks. It wasn't shyness, at least it wasn't _natural_ shyness.

"You do not seem to be happy to be here ... I hope I do not scare you anymore?"

Neville quickly lifted his head, panicked. "No, of course not! No, it's just that ... "

Harry waited patiently for a few seconds but the other boy did not seem to want to finish his sentence. "... Yes?"

"It's just that the person behind it must be very powerful ... I mean, I understand why you're here, you're Harry Potter, but I ..."

"But you are just Neville Longbottom and you think you don't deserve this?"

The boy looked at him in surprise.

"I think you're a very gifted wizard, Neville." This time it was shock that appeared in Longbottom's eyes, then he shook his head in disbelief.

"Do not mock me... I have never had accidental magic, I have terrible grades and I mess up everything ... Grandma told me that my father was so good, but I just cannot ... " Something sounded in the mind of the Slytherin. That was it.

"You know, I was told the same kind of stuff!" He said with a laugh. "But believe me, Neville, you must never believe those who tell you that you are weak. If you were really weak, we would not have to tell you."

 _That old coot. To compare the boy with his father, knowing that said father is in St Mungo! If he had been kept down like that since childhood, it's not that strange that the boy couldn't bring himself to use magic correctly._

Harry did not have time to add anything until three Slytherin came in a safe step. There was a flash of surprise in Draco's eyes, but the boy kept the blank face that made his family's reputation. It was unbelievable how much he looked like his father in those moments. The blond squeezed Neville's hand firmly before he sat down at Harry's right. Behind him, Daphne advanced with her natural grace. She cast an appreciative glance around her, before sitting down beside Neville. At last Blaise remained as impassive as usual, and took his place without a word.

This boy was a shadow, and even among the Slytherins, he was particularly uninhibited. Of course, the fact that his mother was the black widow was not to help with kindness. Little knew that in reality he had a biting sense of humour, and Harry clearly counted on him to coax the nonSlytherins. It must be said that in order to work hand in hand of the Weasleys and a Malfoy, there was work.

Of course, Draco had promised to stay decent and polite, but the boy had a gift to be unbearable while remaining decent and polite. However, it was in his own interest, and Harry was determined to make sure he stayed in place.

The said boy looked around, obviously trying to hide his amazement.

"Funny what this place can do, isn't it?" asked politely Harry to break the uncomfortable silence.

"What do you mean what this place can do?" asked Neville timidly.

Daphne gave him a maternal smile (as she did to have a maternal smile at eleven, it was still a mystery).

"We're here in the Room of Requirement - I finally found the name in the journal of a student who was here about ten years ago, and the journal was hidden in the room adjoining the Slytherin common room. This room has the power to turn into what you want it to be. For example, if you want a swing ... "

She winked at Harry, who immediately thought "swing".

Daphne pushed Neville lightly to turn and discover the swing that had appeared behind him.

"It's awesome!" Exclaimed the Gryffindor, looking at all the others to see if they saw the same thing.

"Daphne, this diary ...?" The girl took out a little green notebook and handed it to Harry. The boy read it quickly, there was not much of interest, not even name. Apparently, his former owner had very low magic reserves, and was managing himself by cheating in all possible ways, especially using the Room of Requirement to find potions already prepared.

"Mhm, I think it will please some twins we know ..." he whispered with a wink towards Neville. They chuckled. Even among the Slytherins, the Weasley twins had a good reputation, unlike the rest of their family. It must be said that it was necessary to be a little snake to succeed in deceiving all the teachers and to set traps all over the castle without ever being sent back. Of course, they still avoid them, they were blood-traitors, but the twin's legend was admired by the all school.

"Talking about us?" Launched two perfectly synchronized voices.

The two Weasleys entered the room, turning on themselves to admire their surroundings. Harry show them the diary (which interested them a lot).

This reassured Neville not to be the only Gryffindor, surrounded by Slytherins he did not know, except Harry of course. The green-eyed boy had warned Daphne of the obvious trustworthiness problems of the Longbottom heir, and the girl seemed very comfortable in her protective role.

Daphne was very curious about Neville. Not that his person in himself did interest her, but Harry seemed to pay special attention to him. Moreover, she knew from her father that the boy's parents had been ... interrogated by Death Eater. No, really, she wanted to know why Harry had chosen him.

The twins began to tell their latest exploits to the other students, who were dumbfounded by the number of unpunished crimes they had managed to accomplish. Fred took the swing, refusing to "sit in such a boring way", and Harry had to conjured another one to avoid a fight with the second Weasley.

"It's like, just yesterday ..."

"Poor Professor Quirell was walking quietly outside ..."

"But it was not counting on the revenge of the brothers Weasley ..."

"The man had dared to give us a detention and he walked quietly, without protection ..."

"So, without friends that he talked to himself ..."

"So, we enchanted snowballs ..."

"And they chased her through the whole castle!"

"Unfortunately, they only succeeded in tapping the back of his head ..."

"But the result was still appreciable."

Harry's ears whistled. They had sent snowballs ... on the back of Quirell's skull ... while Voldemort was awake ...

Harry could not help laughing. It was ridiculous. He tried to regain his composure, but each time the image of the monstrous and imposing face of the Dark Lord reappeared in his mind snatching snowballs. Oh god, and they didn't have an idea!

The other students did not understand what Harry thought was so funny, but his laugh was communicative and when the last man called came in, Cedric Diggory, accompanied by Cho Chang (Slytherins agreed that her abilities were too interesting to be ignored), he found seven pupils shaking of laughter.

Everyone made the introductions, a little surprised to be there for those who were not yet in the confidence. Harry raised his hand, which immediately caused the silence to fall around him.

"Now, now. Everybody here was summoned by the Eye, as you already know."

"So you do are the Eye!" exclaimed Cedric. Interruption, already. But from Cedric, well, it was expected.

"No. The Eye is... it's Hogwarts if you want. The Eye is every and each student around here, well it will be one day I hope. But first, I must explain to all of you some things. To know more than that, you'll have to swear allegiance to the Eye, which mean take a vow. The vow consists on a promise: not to tell anyone from the outside, including teachers, about any of it. In a nutshell, not to betray. If you don't want to, you'll be obliviated and send back to your dorms. To help you make your choice, I'll explain the project to you. The idea is to create a system of justice and transmission of knowledge – including forbidden knowledge- throughout the school. For that, we will create a council of students, classrooms, a system of passing of books."

"When you say forbidden knowledge, you mean dark arts?" asked Cho in a concerned tone. Oh yes, her mother worked at the ministry. But that again was something he could play on.

"No, of course not. Your mother works at the ministry, right?" She nodded.

"That won't be a problem. We will discuss about the dark arts later, for I am not the one making the decision. I am no Lord, no absolute leader, and as I already said, I am not the Eye. But the students ere, and by that, I mean the school, need to learn more, and better. There is a lot of "light" magic that we not learn, or that we learn so late that it become useless, and there is a lot of magic that we can still discover. "

"Why? Do you think there is a problem with the way magic is teach here?" asked Cedric with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, you're only in first year! No offence."

"I do. For the first-year thing, just know that I know a lot about magic thank to my... inheritance." Harry patted his scar with the tip of his wand. "And yes, I think there is a problem. You see, there is only one school in the entire country. Which mean that what is taught to this school will reflect what will happen in the country after. Know, just think about the wizarding history of the past century, wish conveniently isn't taught here. We've passed from war to war, from to Dark Lord to Dark Lord. And still, we are only taught the curse of bogies or tickling charm. Do you really think that this is useful? Do you think that if one day a beast, a wizard or a muggle try to hurt you in any way making his legs dance will stop that? Tell me, Fred, Georges, how many spells that were specifically taught to you in class do you actually use for your tricks?"

The two-brother looked at each other, a bit taken aback by Harry's fervour. When he spoke like that, his eyes returned to their glooming colour, his voice was more inquisitive, a bit lower than his usual child's tone, but mostly, you could feel power around him. Not violent or compulsive, but here either way. Is was like the sky before a storm. And you could feel how the boy was intelligent. So much more than what he should be.

"Hum, I would say a few. But we mostly use some that we found in the library or such. Some that our brothers taught us, or some on which we did... modification."

"See?" Harry said, sending a knowing look towards the others.

"You know, the thing is that what we learn don't change over the years, hell over the decades. Which means that only those who are chosen by "great people", meaning powerful wizards, actually learn what everybody should!"

"I don't see the problem as we all learn the same things..." muttered Neville.

Harry smiled. "Do we all? Draco, how many spells do you know?"

The boy frowned a bit. "Around twenty, I think. I mean that I am capable of actually casting." Harry nodded.

"Now, Neville, I know around fifty spells, because I wanted to learn more, Draco here, as a pureblood, knows twenty, the ones taught in school and a few others from his family. How many spells does a first year muggleborn knows at this point? I'd said about five, except for Miss Granger which is known to be a bookworm and a genius. Don't you see a problem in that gap? "

"But surely it doesn't remain after the school!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "It does. If it didn't, my family would still be alive, and yours still happy." he said in a gentle tone, taking the boy's hand. Neville was surprised that Harry knew about his parents, but held no grudge for mentioning it. They were in this together, somehow. Harry cheered himself internally: he had played well.

"Besides, our knowledge or politics, wars and history are disastrous! What don't we learn about the founders? About Grindelwald? About the First war? Some of us know about it because they were born in the wizarding society, but I sadly inform you that right now more than half the school's students are mugglborn. They don't even have a god damn clue about everything that is surrounding them! And, as you all now, they are the firsts victims when war start. I myself didn't knew about any of that until I went into my family's manor, which happen to have records of laws and things as such. But conveniently, the history's professor is this god damn fool, a ghost, I mean, really? And if only on magic, have you seen our books? If it was taught correctly, one can learn all of it in one month! And I will not even mention the muggle's study, which make think to the purebloods that they still live in the XIXth century. They are voluntarily keeping us blind." The boy had said all of that with a calm, serene voice.

He checked into their eyes, none knew how to protect their minds. Of course, the Slytherins were with him, Neville was too impressed not to agree. Cedric was thoughtful, but he did trusted Harry and agreed with his opinions. The two Weasley were thrilled. But Cho, well he hadn't worked on Cho before, so she wasn't as "in" as the others. He turned towards her. But as he could only see the first thought of the mind, more like a general impression without clear wording, he couldn't only stand on that.

"Plus, I want us to be able to experiment. I mean, magic is so beautiful. Too beautiful to be restricted."

"I can only agree on that." Cedric said lowly, "But I don't see why you did what you did with Nott in that perspective..."

"The first idea is that people like Nott do not get out of it, as Nott got away." explained Daphne.

"Do you mean that Nott was not punished after ...Your action?" Cho asked, her brows furrowed with indignation.

Harry thanked his friend silently. She had probably better understood Cho than himself, since he had never spoken directly to her. Harry suspected that Cho had been personally touched by the... indiscretions of the Slytherin, and her behaviour only confirmed it.

Daphne pulled out of her bag a bunch of files she placed on the table.

"That's the complaints that were made before our action. Most of them were ignored by Filch, Professor Snape or Professor Dumbledore." She took out a single file and placed it on top of the others.

"It was the only complaint that was considered before our action, by Professor Snape. Nott received two weeks of detention for harassment and obscene behaviour, and I would like to thank the twins for sending me We are in the month of October, shortly before our intervention. "

The twins nodded. She brought out an enormous file which would have made the ministry's aurors pale. Hell, how much evidence had accumulated?

"This is the physical proof of the continuation of her crimes during the following weeks, as well as the testimonies of the various complainants, a copy of all this was deposited in the office of Professor Dumbledore after our action."

"And that's the result of our action and all the complaints. Apparently, Professors Snape and MacGonagall requested a temporary exclusion from the school. However, the sentence applied by the headmaster was two weeks of probation, one month of detention and a ban on participating or attending the Quidditch match.

"MacGonagall was furious and she gave us a big talk about behaviour for most of the night after the scandal! " Exclaimed Neville, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Nott is pure blood, his father is a member of the Magenmot, a member of the Hogwarts Board of Directors and one of the people who provides the necessary funds for the admission of the poorest pupils." The blonde said with a half-smile. "His son could explode half the school that he would receive no more punishment than that."

"You must know something about that, is not it Malfoy?" Spat one of the twins. Harry glared at him, which always made an impression.

"Weasley, Draco is here with us to improve the situation. You really think you can criticize him about his privileges when you know he is fighting against this system?" Draco had pinched his lips, but surprised, he did not notice the insult of the redhead. "Besides, my knowledge of this sort of thing will be useful. Not everybody avoids their responsibilities. Something to say, Weasley?"

The twins glared at him but did not answer.

"So, the problem is that Dumbledore is not totally free of his movements." Said Cedric, obviously trying to bring the conversation back on the subject.

Harry nodded. "Even if Dumbledore wanted to punish him, his hands are tied by his function. Headmasters must think about school before special cases."

"And it seems that after his punishment, Nott continued in this direction. Rumours were useful to keep him in place for some time, but even the biggest rumours eventually fell."

"We tried to go through legal ways, as you see, but it is useless."

"What we want is to allow students to decide for them to decide everything, what they learn, how they want to function, what is forbidden, what is allowed, to do group actions, who is guilty, who is innocent, how the culprits must be punished and the innocent helped. And for that we need people with knowledge and great wizarding capacities. " Harry's voice echoed through the room.

They all looked at him, waiting. He did not look like an eleven-year-old. He did not look like an innocent little boy at all. At that moment he was a wizard, a Lord. His aura spread in waves in the room. It was not magic, they would have felt it all and would have been offended, no, the boy was simply charismatic. It was like a warm summer wind. And Merlin, what he was proposing to them was so exiting!

"So, you're in?" Harry was staring at the floor. He was expecting one of them to say no, but when he looked up, his arms were up. Even the young Neville, the timid and uncertain Neville raised his arm as if he wanted to touch the ceiling.

"Well, now I'd like all of you, as special and firsts members of the Eye, to learn Occlumency." He could see many eyes widened.

"Wha-what's Occlumency? I mean, er... never heard of that..." Neville blushed of embarrassment.

"I don't think many people heard of that, don't worry. You have to be Harry to know that time of things..."

"I don't know what you insinuate, Blaise, but I disagree with it."

"Nothing, nothing, I just meant that you read so much that you could be a raven." Harry rose an eyebrow to the chuckles of his friends.

"You've got a point. Anyway, Neville, Occlumency is the art of protecting your mind against other's intrusions. It will be necessary as our dear potion's professor is a skilled legimen, meaning that he can easily see what you taught, and that the headmaster use it sometimes too. If we don't want to get caught, we have to protect ourselves."

"But for what I know, it is one of the hardest subject to learn!"

"Yes, yes of course. I'm not saying that I want you all to be masters occlumensists tomorrow. Just that you should consider the subject and start training over the years." Neville had a sigh of relief.

The poor boy wasn't far from being the worst student in the Griffindor's first year, only under skilled by Ron. Harry discreetly winked at him while the others were discussing of what to do next. Soon, cocoa and cookies were summoned, and different groups formed themselves.

Cedric, Cho and Draco were talking about a way to transmit messages along the school, while the Weasley were showing Blaise one of their new tricks. Of course, Draco was avoiding the two brother, which reciprocated, but it went smoother than what Harry would have expected. The boy sat near to Neville, in one of the room's corner.

"So? What do you think?" he asked sweetly, not wanting to frighten or to push the Gryffindor.

"It's nice, really, Potter..."

"Come on, you can call me Harry. I may be in Slytherin, but I'm not a big fan of all the pompous fanciness and titles. I call you Neville, you call me Harry."

The boy nodded. Harry was always so confident, but somehow Neville felt safe with him. Unlike his fellow Slytherins, he wasn't cold, his face blank or always smirking. No, Harry often gave bright smiles that could warm a room in winter, and everything in his posture was screaming comfort and friendship. Yet, he was always above. It was like his eyes were seeing your very soul, sometimes.

"But still, I don't see how I can help... I'm really bad at magic." He said wincing.

Harry sight.

"We will figure out something for that. We will help you, all of us, you see? And I'm sure, really, I'm sure that you will help us too. Maybe not right now, maybe not in a week; But one day you will understand what you're able to do."

"How is it that you're so sure of my potential?"

Harry smiled at him. "Give me your hands." he ordonned.

It was the first-time Harry tried this on someone else, but he wanted to do this. To show that boy that he wasn't weak. That he wasn't different, useless. He knew too much how much it hurtled to think that about yourself. He had prepared it to check on Damien, but his brother wasn't the only one that needed help. Neville obeyed. His hand was moist.

 _What is he doing? This is strange... Come on, Neville, get yourself together, he is only trying to help. Unless he is mocking? He couldn't just be pranking me, could he? But -_

"Good. Now, close your eyes. Breath. In, out, slowly. You need to calm down. Concentrate on your breathing."

The flow of questions slows down as Neville's breath stabilised.

"You're doing very well. Now, I want you to open your eye and to look into mine. Just trust me."

When Neville obeyed, he falls into an ocean of green. Every light around him faded, every sound became a whisper. He was just surrounded by warm, welcoming darkness and a bright green light.

 _Now Neville, turn around. What do you see?_

The boy obeyed. What he saw was... the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Filaments of light blazed in the darkness. Something pure, powerful, throbbing through his whole body. It was aerial. It was a stream of fresh, powerful air, a white squall across his whole body, in his heart, his lungs, even into the end of his hand. The pulsations were calm, quiet. He felt a force around him, Harry holding his hands and guiding him. He felt the movement of the fabrics of his t-shirt, his sweater, his robes against his skin. He felt the tickling of his hair against his neck. The drop of sweat on his forehead. His breathing, the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins. Magic. She was there, alive, singing, out of reach.

Harry cut the contact a little too abruptly and Neville took a deep breath in shock.

"Sorry about that," apologized Harry with a small grin. The other boy's eyes were so enlarged that he seemed to be about to faint.

"Is..."

"It was your magic." Harry confirmed. "There's nothing weak, ugly or shameful in there."

Neville blushed and nodded gently, calming himself as best he could. So that was what Harry was seeing! But how? Where had he learned to do that? Neville had never heard of such a thing.

He looked up at Harry, who was watching his companions with a tender smile. His eyes shone, sparkling, his long black locks always in disorder falling around his face. Just looking at Harry gave him confidence.

At one point, the Weasleys had to start swinging because one of them fell from his swing in an unreliable movement, making everyone laugh.

 _He is our saviour, and he trust me_ , thought Neville. The boy's heart tightened. No one had ever trusted him until then.

As if he had heard his thought, the boy's smile widened.


	15. Chapter 14

A new chapter! The first visit into the ministry for Harry, showing a glimpse of what's to come for him and everyone. Hope you like it, and don't hesitate to review!

Chapter 14:

Severus Snape was an expert when it came to hide his emotions. It was part of his job as well as his personality. But Margeline Boosom, an employee of the ministry, was in the process of succeeding where the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Aurors in the ministry and years of James Potter had failed: Make him loose his temper.

The previous day:

Harry was late, but at least he had a good excuse. Last night he had said goodbye to everyone who was leaving during the holidays, which meant going in almost every common room in a way or another, before heading back to his own bed.

And then the Slytherins had begun a pillow battle. Blaise had dragged Draco, who had splendidly taken his place on the floor, arse over his head, and under the furious glance of his comrade, had raised his hand and declared to have acted under the spell of the Imperius.

Touched in his honour, the blonde had grabbed his cushion and threw with a surprising strength on the son of the black widow, causing him to fall in his turn, taking with him Crabbe, who had just arrived in the dormitory. From there, it had been chaos, and Harry had to cast a Protego to avoid becoming a collateral victim. He regretted not being able to participate. But the other boys seemed to have fun together. Then an idea came to him. He had only to use magic, he was trained for that and much more. Scattering his shield, a pillow firmly clasped in his left hand, his wand in his right hand, Harry rushed into the battle.

The boy narrowly avoided a cushion shot from Goyle, which was intended to strike a Blaise already too busy in his duel with heir Malfoy. Bending to avoid the blow, Harry sent his cushion into the legs of the giant, which unbalanced him. With a great movement of arms to catch up, Goyle fell to the ground in a "pouf", and Harry stepped over to continue his way.

He reached Blaise's back and gave him a cross cushion, perfectly executed from Draco's point of view, who prevailed to remove his cushion from his hand and now attack him with two pillows. The combined attacks of the two boys eventually drove Blaise down on his knees. Draco was going to congratulate his friend for this victory, but he took a crafty blow from Crabbe in the face, which he sent to flip on one of the beds. Harry was preparing to counter-attack when he saw a mass in his peripheral vision and bent down to avoid it. A pillow crashed into the wall in front of him.

"Girls, girls in the dorms!" Exclaimed Blaise, who had already taken another pillow, and rose bravely.

Indeed, the first-year girls had entered, attracted by the noise, and had quickly taken hold of pillows. They waited, a mocking smile on their lips, a hand on their hips.

"So, _boys_ , you dare fight without us?" Said Daphne with a mocking smirk. "If one could call this mess a fight..."

Pansy Parkinson, just behind her, pounded her cushion on the floor as if it were a club. She was a brown, thin girl, with straight hair cut into a strict square, endowed like all those in her family with a trumpet's nose, which gave her all the time the air of raising her chin with a haughty air. The enormous Milicent Bulstrode had two. The girl seemed fit for the fight, with her broad shoulders and square jaw. Another girl stood a little further, Harry did not really remember her name. Davice? Something like that. Yes, Davis Tracey. She was small and looked fragile, but there was a glimmer in her eyes that cautioned the boys. As a half-blood in Slytherin, she must have had to learn quick how to defend herself. Immediately, they line up behind Harry, preparing for a pitched battle.

But they were Slytherins. There could not be a real battle between snakes because it was just silly.

Cushions began to fly in the air under Harry's impulse, and ran over the girls. They threw themselves on the sides to avoid them, then began to counter attack. Daphne pulled out her wand and bewitched other cushions to fight Harry's. The boy had to avoid several of them, ran to cross the beds, jumping from mattress to mattress, receiving himself quite gracefully thanks to the magic he was displaying around him to protect himself. The dormitory turned into a cafarnaum of duels, or rather traps more or less well done across the room. Everybody was trying to hit others in the back or the fight two against one, and _somehow_ it didn't work quite well.

Draco had plated Pansy Parkinson on the floor with an arm wrench. He sank his knees in the girl's back, making her cry little. There was a brightness in his eyes. Something bad and yet a hollow of joy. A cruel little smile curled his lips. He did not realize it. He did not feel his features distort imperceptibly, but Harry had seen it.

Suddenly, something black blocked the entrance and all froze.

Snape.

The Potion Professor was on the landing of the door, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on his pupils, his brows furrowed with disapproval. The pupils had difficulty swallowing. As discreetly as possible, they all let go of their cushions and tried to return to a suitable position.

"The curfew is in less than five minutes, so I will suggest to those of you who are not in their proper dormitory to join their bed. I would have hoped you would behave a little better than vulgar Gryffindors, but It seems that the hope is always disappointed ... "His look passed from Harry to Draco before settling on the other boys while the female gente discreetly left the room. On these words, he left silently, leaving the Slytherins red with shame, he didn't have to said more.

Harry went back to his bed, trying to arrange the mess on his way. Catching the Malfoy's heir's glance, he whispered: "I don't think he can avoid pillows with as much dexterity and grace as you, Draco."

His words made a proud smile appear on Malfoy's face, which raised his head as if he had just been knighted. "Yes, and besides, it's a very good training to avoid objects and attack. He should know this, he who is so strong and smart." He stated, his bored mask in place again on his face.

Of course, a battle of pillows was not very Slytherin. This did not fit into the codes of behaviour and interaction between Purebloods that Harry secretly nicknamed "how to show the world how much I am a snob in ten lessons." Harry had learnt theses traditions, how to talk without suttering, how to keep your face blank, your back straight, how to pretend that every movement you make have a purpose, if only to show how superior and graceful you are. But in spite of their blood, these children that were the sons and daughters of murderers, crooks, war criminals, the elite of the nation, well, were still children. And Snape was only a greasy git.

Cheering each other to repair their wounded honour, the boys returned to their beds. Suddenly something struck Harry. "Wait, but where is Nott?"

Not that his presence was desired, but as Snape had said, there were only 5 minutes remaining before the curfew. Nott outside in the middle of the night meant nothing good, all the more just before the holidays. The other boys looked at him: they thought exactly the same thing as him. The boys had moved into their dorms, as they would stay in the same room for the next few years. The dormitories were divided by year, and by sex, but only few children were born that same year of Harry, simply because it coincided with the power peak of the Dark Lord. No one could wish to give birth during a _war._

Also, all first-year boys on Harry's side were aware of it for the boy's abilities, well of some of the boy's abilities. In all there were only ten boys, and all were loyal to him, with exception of the three who were now on Nott's side. The dormitory was thus divided in two, on one side the vast majority of the first-year, the other Nott and his two companions: Nigellus Shacklebolt and Martial Fawley, two purebloods. If no curtain or wall had been built between the factions, the beds had been moved so that the separation was palpable, and Harry's part was much better fitted.

Very quickly, the boys had started moving the first layer of stone from the walls to create hiding places, which they masked with posters of Quidditch players.

Then they added shelves to put down all the books they borrowed, securing them with small doors that they could lock and to which they had added a spell. The floor had suffered the same fate when they realized that they could move some slabs. Then Harry had cracked the wall behind his bed, where the hole would be hidden by the furniture, to reach the pipes, and thanks to the ingenuity of the Weasley brothers, the waters of the school had been diverted from it area. Then Harry had dug a hole in the piping.

Of course, all this had been done in the greatest secrecy, the other three Slytherins having no idea what was going on, and not daring to check or look for things on this side of the dormitory since Fawley s' was found with a burned hand trying to open the library.

Harry moved his bed: worse than a Nott alone outside at night, there was Nott and his two henchmen alone out at night.

 **"Ananta."** He called through the conduit. His voice reverberated on the bronze parishes, amplifying, deforming slightly. Harry knew that the snake was not far away, he had asked her to stay in the vicinity not to have to look for her the next morning.

 **"Ssssspeaker...** " hissed the snake, approaching.

 **"Hey beautiful, remember the boy named Nott?"**

 **"Enemy?"**

 **"Yes.** " The serpent nodded.

 **"He's gone, and I'm afraid he's going to do us wrong. Can you find him and tell me what he's doing, please?"**

 **"Can I bite him? He looked delicious the last time I saw him..."**

 **"No, sorry. Maybe later, but it would not be correct to kill the boy now..."**

 **"Ow. But you never let me bite humans!** " Pouted the snake.

 **"I have my reasons. Now, up you go!** " Immediately Ananta rushed into the pipes and disappeared.

"Now we wait."

It took the serpent almost an hour before coming back. All the boys had sat on their bed, waiting for the answer to find out how much they were in trouble.

The snake whistled for a moment, his head pointing in the direction of Harry, then went away.

"Well, my friends, it seems that the young Mr Nott and his gang were caught trying to get into girls' dorms and have been held in Professor MacGonagall's office." Harry said haughtily voluntarily exaggerated.

The other Slytherins sniggered before slipping under their sheets.

When they woke up the next day, the limit was no longer so clear. The boys' affairs were scattered throughout the dormitory, books that had not been put under torn protection, clothes scattered. Of course, the culprits were obvious, but they decided not to denounce them. Not only were they probably already gone since it was the day of departure, but in addition they preferred to keep their revenge ... for themselves. But their decision did not prevent Harry from entering the Headmaster's office, where he had an appointment, nearly ten minutes late.

When he entered, Dumbledore greeted him with the same grandfather's smile as always, but Snape glared at him which sent chills down his spine. Even with his mental protections at the peak, it was difficult to sustain the obsidian gaze when the potions professor was angry. Or Pissed. Or when he shows any type of emotion, _really_ , it was just so out of character.

"Harry, Harry my boy, come and sit with us!" Said the headmaster in a cheerful tone. Very cheerful. Harry was surprised that sweets did not come out of his mouth.

"Sorry for my delay, headmaster." Harry said in a childish voice. It was no use playing the proud pureblood with the velvet voice and the silver tongue before a man who was probably one hundred years older than you and who had seen others. Also, Harry had decided to play the perfect grandson, since Dumbledore seemed to wish to be the grandfather of the whole school.

"Tea? Lemon drop?"

"Yes, thank you headmaster." Harry accepted with joy.

He almost came to appreciate the taste of the lemon by having it prepared at home for the headmaster during the summer. And then, there was a little something of real joy in the eyes of the old man when he accepted ...

The boy had not forgotten what he had done to him. He had simply crushed it deep in his memory, deep in his brain. It was no use to hate such a powerful man, who gathered knowledge and talent, all the more so when this man was supposed to protect you. Harry did not know what to think of him, but he knew there was more. More than anything Harry could imagine in the current state of things. He had waited ten years to get rid of his family, and almost two more to actually kill them. He had time, of Merlin he had all his time. Then, in the meantime, he had to learn to love lemon.

"Take a sit, Harry." Invited the old man.

He obeyed and sat in the armchair next to Snape, which was silently sipping his tea. The Green-eye boy knew that the only reason he didn't made a hurtful remark was the fact that Dumbledore was in the room.

"As you know, today is the big day! You and the professor Snape will take my floo to go to the ministry. I'm sure you will behave quite well and that all will go smoothly. However, knowing the ministry, I shall advise you both to keep calm and... relax."

Harry didn't know at all what to do with this advice. He had no idea of what was the ministry actually like, but considering the special shade of sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes, he could only imagine that it was awful. And the fact that he had to go with Snape wasn't reassuring at all.

"And after that, I wish you to come back to my office, Harry. I would like to have a few words with you before the holidays. I understood that you were staying anyway?"

"Yes sir. I thought it would be better to be here and study than to be alone at home. And I believed it would be easier for the professor Snape."

Dumbledore gave him a bright smile. "It's perfectly ok, my boy, and I believe that the professor Snape enjoy your concern, don't you Severus?"

Snape rose an eyebrow. "Obviously." He said in such a way that it was obvious that he didn't care at all. Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, and he wasn't the only one in the room. He took a sip of tea instead.

"Well, now that this is settled, I wish you both good luck!"

Harry stood, leaving his tea cup on the headmaster's desk, and followed Snape to the chimney. He had read about the floo system, but he had no experience of it whatsoever and was sort of nervous. Snape grabbed a handful of green powder and told Harry to follow him into the hearth, taking care not to touch him.

"I advise you to close your eyes, since it is your first floo, Potter, the Ministry of Magic." Without even allowing Harry time to react, he threw the powder to the floor. The child felt aspired, without knowing where. He closed his eyes as hard as he could to avoid the feeling of nausea.

He felt the ground reappear beneath his feet and would be shaded head first if Snape had not caught him by the arm.

"At least you did not vomit." He whispered mockingly.

Reaching himself in an instant, Harry stepped out of the hearth.

They were in a large alley lined with dozens of fireplaces from which wizards and witches came out before heading for the hall with a hurried step.

The hall was a huge round room - at least the size of the hall at Hogwarts, if not more, in the centre of which was a monumental golden statue.

When Harry saw this statue, he decided that he would destroy it as soon as he had the opportunity. A wizard, with his wand in a triumphant air, beheld a witch with his hair in the wind. Slightly below, with a sort of expression of worshipful adoration, a centaur, a house elf and a goblin. As they approached, the wizard seemed to have an increasingly stupid expression, and the smile of the witch was false. Water spurted from the sticks of the chopsticks, the centaur's arrow, the goblin's hat and the elf's ears to fall into a central pool with a gentle sound. When they were no more than a yard away, Harry could read the plaque: Fountain of Magical Brethren. It was rude, it was cute, it was awesome. Damien had spoken to him about this sort of thing, he could not remember the word any more ... Ha yes, propaganda. And the worst with that. Harry hoped that none of the creatures in question had to enter the ministry, because the insult had to be unbearable.

Harry was struggling to keep up with Snape's big steps while avoiding contact with the crowd, but he kept his countenance. He had never seen so many wizards in one place.

Snape pointed to the elevators in which the members of the ministry crowded. Harry stopped suddenly. The Potion Professor glanced at him, but there was not that mocking lustre in his eyes. He simply waited.

"Are there any stairs you could take?" Finally asked the child.

One might have perceived a glimmer of tenuous fear in his voice, but it must have been an illusion.

He just could not.

He could not go into this confined space in that dark closet, cupboard, tight against these people, those people he did not know and their hands everywhere out of his sight and there would be no air and the door was going to close. And it would be dark, it would be very dark and he would feel their bodies around him.

"Come on, Potter, it's only an elevator." Harry was calm, he was always calm. He took a step back. He was not ready for that. He could not go back. He could not go back into the closet under the stairs. Even if it was not the closet, he knew it, but his mind refused to admit it.

Snape frowned and without a word added another way with a wave of his hand.

They went down deserted stairs for a long time, always in silence, until they reached the good floor. They advanced on the black and glossy tiles to a set of desks, where the rattling of the machines and the scratching of the feathers on the parchment echoed. A small woman with a pointed nose raised her head as they approached. She wore her auburn hair in a strict chignon that recalled that of MacGonagall. She had scaled glasses falling on her nose, over which she glanced at them blankly.

"Can I help you?"

"We have an appointment with Lord Malfoy." Snape answered coldly.

The poor woman jumped as if she were being stung by a bee. Harry could not help but smile: Snape's voice always had the same effect on those who were not used to it, he would have to say that his obsidian, unfathomable gaze and his dark dresses did not help reassure.

"Er ... oh yes of course, Lord Malfoy, hmm."

She rummaged through a pile of papers, trembling hands, pulled out one she folded as a paper airplane before throwing it into the air.

Harry said nothing but thought no less.

The paper plane stopped halfway down, and a small golden smoke materialized underneath. It turned suddenly and left like an arrow behind the little woman, continuing his way until he could no longer see it.

They waited a few minutes in an embarrassing silence, the little woman throwing them stealthily, half worried, half curious. Until she notices the scar in the middle of Harry's forehead, yet hidden behind his long black locks. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth but did not have time to speak because of a great cane stroke on her desk. The teeth of white gold serpents, nothing less for a Malfoy, had planted themselves in the clear wood. Its owner looked at the poor woman, who was trying to hide her terror, with the utmost contempt, his lips turned up into a satisfied smile and his long blond hair was falling perfectly along his dark blue dresses.

It was Lord Malfoy, in all his glory.

"Thank you for warning me of the arrival of my guests, Mrs. Hutchonn." He said in a drawling voice. "

Turning completely away from her - she should not deserve his attention - he pulled her duck from the desk and shook hands before signing to Snape and Harry to follow him.

"Sorry about her. She's mudblood, you know. Anyway you have an appointment in the office of the administrator Chang, she is my friend, do not worry, but I must warn you that the administrative convolutions are going to be long, your case is of the most exceptional. "

Harry already felt Snape tense. Dumbledore warned them, of course, but even if Malfoy did, it did not promise anything good.

They finally arrived in the office of the administrator Chang.

"I have done in sorts that most of the paperwork goes through good hands, everything should go for the best."

"Thank you, Lucius." Snape said, clutching his right forearm. This posture seemed so familiar to both men that no one noticed the look Harry gave them.

Almost twelve years later, the ministry still operated on the old springs that Voldemort had set up. He did not know if it was scary or fun.

Lucius opened the door before letting them pass. The desk was small, neat, with a false window behind which a sunny countryside landscape was played. Mrs. Chang almost resembled her daughter, except for the nose, that she was much less handsome. She welcomed them with a big smile, stood up to shake hands with both adults.

"Lucius, right on time, as usual, Mr. Snape, glad to meet you, and you have to be Harry Potter?" She added, looking friendly at him.

"Indeed, Ms. Chang, I'm glad to meet you." Harry replied warmly before sitting down in the seat he was told.

"You're in the same year as my daughter, I think?"

"Yes, but she's in Ravenclaw. I only know her from sight, unfortunately."

"Oh sure, of course. Now let's move on to business."

"This would be most appreciated." Snape's baritone voice had sliced in polite conversation like a knife in butter.

Harry thought he heard Malfoy sighing behind him. The two men were seated at Harry's right and left. Their posture was relaxed, yet still imposing.

Mrs. Chang took out a file from the pile in front of her, opened it and looked through it, taking out a few things.

"As we all know, children who lose their families and who do not reach the majority are supposed to go to a Muggle orphanage, or to their godfather or godmother, but Albus Dumbledore. The problems which such a procedure might involve for Mr Potter, and the Minister has accepted his proposal. Mr Potter, I am legally requiring explaining all the circumstances to you."

Harry prepared himself mentally. He had the feeling that he was not going to hear good news. "You may know that until then you have been placed under the care of your uncle and your aunt because of your sponsor's inability to take charge of you."

The boy's throat tightened, though he did not let it appear. "May I ask you why, madam?"

Mrs. Chang cast a furtive glance at Snape, who nodded discreetly. She coughed and looked at the child's green eyes with the utmost compassion.

"Your godfather, Sirius Black, is being held in Azkaban for war crimes, multiple murders and refusal to cooperate with the authorities."

The boy's gaze hardened slightly before his face recaptured that angelic anxiety that melted all the adults.

"I see." He replied simply.

There was no reason to react without more information. After all, it was certain that if Malfoy were not such a fine politician, he would have been convicted of the same crimes, and much more. It did not mean anything.

He felt very clearly Snape's gaze on his neck.

Completely caught unprepared by this reaction, the woman continued:

"In view of this ... regrettable situation, you will be awarded a guardian. We have been informed of the postulate of Mr. Severus Tobias Snape on this charge, is this correct?"

"Indeed." The professor confirmed.

"Well, I will ask you to complete this form, in accordance with article 66-7 of the Law of Adoption Regulation and Tutoring of Magic Children." She held out what looked more like a complete file than a form to Snape, who took him reluctantly, then turned to Harry.

"Mr Potter, you also have your lot to fill." She said with a contrite smile.

Harry opened the file and began to read assiduously everything written on it. It was mostly identity checks, the list of laws used in the proceedings and an agreement that he had to sign to make Snape his tutor, that is, to give him authority over his person outside Of Hogwarts until the age of 17.

"Ms. Chang, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course!"

"Article 4 says that by making Mr. Snape my guardian, of my own free will and choice, I give him authority over my person. Does this act involve my vaults, properties, titles and possessions?"

Once again caught out, Ms. Chang opened her throat without answering for a few seconds, before taking it easy.

"Well yes, normally ..."

"In that case, without wishing to contradict you, madam, I would like it to be specified that in this case, as a descendant of the Peverells, this part of the law does not apply to me. "

"I do not see what law you're talking about, Mr. Potter ..." The poor woman was totally confused now.

Harry congratulated himself on having searched in his family dreams during the summer.

"I am referring to the code of law of the founders, madam." Lucius looked at him intently.

"Potter, this law applies only to the heirs of ..." Without giving him time to finish, Harry pulled out his Lord's rings from the bottom of his pocket into which he had slipped them that very morning. This time, the administrator's face lost all colour.

"I did not know that ..."

"It's not a big deal, ma'am. I just think we need a bit of a bit of an add-on, is not it?" The child's eyes shone with malice, as he flashed a cheerful smile.

"Indeed." The administrator stood up and left the office.

Crossing Snape's eyes, Harry explained: "My family goes back a long way, beyond the actual ministry itself, so I'm entitled to a few things for practical reasons. Sorry about that."

The professor's eyebrow rose in a perfect fit.

" So you really are a Peverell heir?" I thought the family was extinct. Lucius's voice was as measured as usual, but Harry knew he would die of curiosity. And Harry had no intention to satisfy it .

"My lineage can never really disappear, just get a little washed-out." He said mysteriously.

Indeed, from what he had read on his family tree, the Peverell family had a very high mortality rate, as well as a fairly impressive number of squibs. That without counting the branches that had been lost in the Muggle world. Harry had guessed that the special laws for the Peverell came from this disastrous reproduction. However, he did not yet have access to the vault of this family, not in their totality, and he supposed he could gain a lot of information when he will finally be old enough. He had the feeling that there was a lot of things to learn about them. "It's actually what happen to many lost pure-blood families."

"But how did you learn all that?"

"I have my springs, and I sleep little." Understanding that the young man would only answer him in riddles, Malfoy did not ask any more questions, which did not mean that he forgot the subject. Harry couldn't say if he was pleased of his ability in leaping information for himself of piss of by his ingratitude, either way his face didn't make a move. He turned towards the elegant blond man an flashed him a smile that made him shudder – even if he hid it quite well.

If Harry didn't wish to rely on fear with the students, he had no problem to use it on Death Eaters, especially those who had betrayed to save their skin. And if one person had clear motives in this room, it was Lucius. The man was so good at getting away with things that he didn't even had to hide completely what he was.

Ms. Chang came back with a new form, this time on an old and decrepit parchment. She handed it to Harry, who gave him a smile to signify his approval, before passing it to Snape. The professor read it, his face hidden behind his locks. Harry waited for him to finish before giving him an interrogative look.

"Everything seems to me to be fine," he agreed, before handing Lucius the parchment to check, "I hope you do not have any more surprises of that kind, Potter."

"I am someone full of surprise, but they should not happen now." Replied the boy, with a laugh.

Snape sighed before continuing to fill the file that had been assigned to him.

"I hate all of this title things." He muttered.

"That's not surprising, my dear Severus, you are more a general than a prince!" Ribbed Lucius.

It must have been a joke between the two of them because Harry didn't understand it, nor why Snape sigh in the most desperate way he had ever heard. Once this was finished, the lady picked them up and signed in several places. "Well, now you're going to have to go to justice and to the pureblood office."

"Why the Justice Section?" Snape asked, frowning.

She glared at him. "Because you have been tried in Magenmagot, Mr. Snape, but do not worry, since no charge has been made against you, it is only formalities. I've already send your file, so it shouldn't take too long, but you know what kind of people are in this section..." The two adults nodded at the same time, emitting noises of disapproval. They took the files with them and proceeded to the Justice Section of the Ministry.

"I'll have to leave you there." said Malfoy, with no regrets in his voice, "It would be little known if I accompany you here, and I still have a lot of work. He tilted his head slightly in greeting and turned his heels.

"Traitor." Snape snapped between his teeth.

"Malfoy." Pointed out le child.

A small twitch at the corner of Snape's lips was the only proof of his amusement, but considering the man in was worth the greatest laugh.

Harry had no idea what kind of person there was in the Justice Section, but he felt he was going to have a lot of fun.

The Justice Department was anything but welcoming. Aurors guarded each door, and sometimes passed through the corridors. Snape walked with ease, but the child felt he was uncomfortable. It was only because the Aurors cast him heavy or curious glances before continuing on their way.

Eventually they came to a small office. A man with a closed face stared at them before turning back his paper frantically.

"Reason for your presence?" He asked finally, put his pen to the side, with a contempt that Harry believed reserved for the Malfoy family.

"We have appointments for Mr. Potter's tutoring procedure." Snape replied in a tone that was equally amiable.

The man took out a register from under his desk, leafing over to the information sought.

"Mhm yes indeed you have been registered. Please sit and wait your turn."

They sat down on two of the waiting room chairs.

It was probably the most awkward moment Harry had ever lived. On his right, an immense man, of the body of Uncle Vernon, but all in muscles, which should not be humanly possible, and who was not, since this person was probably not human. He was surrounded by two Aurors with a gentle appearance, which were three heads less than him, and the trio waited in a calm and perfect and almost ridiculous immobility, considering the obvious traces of fight, mud and blood on their faces.

To his left Snape had sat down, fixed and fixed in his chair, an air of deep bore on his face, his arms crossed on his chest.

Beside Snape, there was a grandmother. She looked ferocious, and fixed obstinately straight before her, as if to send the paving stones into the deepest and darkest hell. Poor paving, they surely didn't deserve that.

Another Auror entered the room, apparently to get the giant back, but stopped at the sight of Harry. The boy recognized him.

He had a hooked nose, full lips and rose twisting for a man in his thirties. White threads wandered over his blond hair and his little brown eyes. It was the Auror that had picked him up during the explosion at the Dursleys.

The man approached: he had the sure gestures due to his work and wore the uniform of the Aurors. "Mr. Potter." He bowed politely, a little smile on his face.

Harry smiled back at him and held out his hand to him, but kept as much as possible to read his thoughts: it was an Auror, he was very conscious of risking Azkaban if he realized it.

Understanding the reason for his embarrassed air, he presented himself.

"My name is Proudfoot."

"Enchanted, Auror Proudfoot, I did not have time to thank you, the last time we saw each other.

The Auror winked at him. "But it's nothing, I've only done my job, and I did not have time to address my condolences."

"Thank you." God, if only people could stop address their condolences to him, that'd be great.

"So how are you doing since the incident? What are you doing here?Nothing serious I hope?"

"Oh, no, I do not think so. Apparently, there is a special procedure that my future guardian has to fill in before the thing is done." He explained, pointing at Snape.

The Auror raised his eyebrows before shaking Snape's hand. "Excuse me for not greeting you, sir, I did not know you were bringing Mr Potter."

He was very clear in the way he apologized that it was not at all the reason. Harry felt a little bad for bringing Snape into enemy ground.

"Do not worry, Mr. Potter." Said the Auror, turning once more to the child, shortening as much as possible without being insulting his handshake with the old Death Eater. "I'll spare you from waiting here longer. It's not a place for kids."

With these words, he glared at Snape, as if to reproach him for bringing Harry here. With a gesture he told the two Aurors to take the giant into a corridor on their right, then he went to see the receptionist. After a few quick murmurings, he returned to them.

"Follow me."

They executed themselves. Harry took care not to cross the potions professor's eyes. He felt sad, and a little angry. There was so much contempt for the potions professor, of all the people around him that he did not know how he prevented himself from bewitching them all the way to the oblivion. Perhaps the assurance of being killed, no matter how Harry suspected that if he got there, Snape would take down a lot of the ministry with him.

Proudfoot finally led them to a new office, greeting a few Aurors on the way, who looked at them with supreme and suspicious curiosity. Especially when they saw the scar on Harry's forehead, and recognized who was with him.

They finally arrived in the office of the Auror, which had obviously decided to take charge of the case. Harry did not complain: at least he really intended to help them - to help Harry - and so go as fast as possible.

"So, Severus Snape, yes I have your file here. You went to court after the events of October 31, and the fall of he-who-shall-not-be-named, and convicted of the facts you were accused of. However, it was established that you were a Dumbledore spy in the Dark Lord's army, and you were pardoned, isn't it? "

While saying this, he stared at Harry, as if wishing to warn him of the person he had chosen as his guardian. The boy was pretty sure he was not required to say it all out loud.

Basically, what he was doing was a good intention, and if Harry had been a normal child, he would have yielded to his implicit request. But Harry already knew what Snape had done, and by the age of 11 he had committed far worse crimes. So his face did not move a millimetre.

"Yes." Snape's voice was sharp.

"Well, Mr. Potter, may I ask you to leave for a moment, the rest of the interview has to be done in private, you can wait in the corridor, do not worry."

Harry glanced at Snape, who nodded slightly as a sign of assent. The boy got up and left, gently closing the door behind him.

Snape had expected such things, but not at this point. It was necessary to say that a former Death Eater, to adopt Harry Potter, the very famous Boy-Who-Lived, there was something to raise a few eyebrows. Yet Dumbledore himself had cleared him.

The Auor looked up at him, much less sweetly than when Harry was present. He crossed his arms on his torque and stared at him, as if he wanted to assess his chances of returning immediately to Azakaban.

Obviously, no procedure needed Harry to be in the room.

"Why do you want to be his guardian?" He had said his words as if contempt dripped from his mouth.

"That does not matter to Mr. Potter and me." Snape answered in the same tone.

People who did not know him tended to underestimate his character. It was this character that had pleased the Dark Lord the first time he had met him. That had allowed him to survive all these years.

"I'm afraid that it concerns me, Snape, since I am the one who has the stamp that will give you permission."

Snape did not react to the disappearance of the "Mister" in the Auror sentence. He had deal with Aurors before.

"Why do not you ask Mr. Potter?"

"I was there when his family died, and I picked him up, covered with blood, mud and soot. I did not allow you to hurt him, " He said.

"So you're only alert because he is Harry Potter? What about other kids who might come through your office?" Snape's answer was sarcastic, but his heart had missed a beat at mentioning what the child had experienced. It seemed as if he was always discovering new horrors in his past.

"Do not question my work, Snape, you know very well what it is, and I doubt that the few Death Eaters who have managed to escape our claws come one day to adopt a child, so I repeat My question: Why? "

Snape held his gaze.

"Because it's his will."

The Auror's mouth agape with surprise.

"Besides," continued the Potion Professor, "I have Dumbledore's blessing, is not that enough? Unless you call into question the judgment of Albus Dumbledore, Proudfoot?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

The Auror sighed. "No, I would not dare. But I do not trust you. "

" I do not need your trust, sir. Just your stamp on this document." Snape's voice sent a shiver on the other man's back.

The tension was crushing. The two men fought with their looks for several seconds. However, if the Auror was experienced, nobody could support Snape's gaze when he was decided. And he was very, very decided. The Auror glared one last time at him, before taking out his wand to open the door.

Harry sat back in his place, looking as innocent as ever.

Once the documents had been duly stamped, declaring that Mr. Potter was sane and that Mr. Snape obviously did not intend to kill him, they proceeded to the pure-blood regulation section, following the indications that Proudfoot had given them.

They had to descend, go past the department of mysteries, turn right, keep straight and pray to Salazar Slytherin so as not to get lost in this damn labyrinth. They took the stairs once more. Harry felt something strange. The deeper they sank, the more he felt ... his magic? She was chatting, but not like when he was using her, not like he felt something too strong and out of control. It was something thin, deafening, lugubrious, like the pulsation of a heart that was not his own and that belonged to no one. It was hypnotizing, and he wanted to beat him more and more. A dead heart. They continued to descend and he had to concentrate as much as possible to leave nothing to appear. His blood seemed to respond to this call. It was faint, muffled, distant, but Harry felt it with enough strength to care. He did not ask Snape if he felt the same way. He did not ask the voice if it was normal.

They passed the door of the mystery department, crossing a few employees whom Harry greeted politely, then continued their way.

The further away they were, the more the force diminished, and after a certain time and a certain number of corridors and rooms between him and the department of mysteries, Harry no longer felt anything.

They eventually arrived in the good department, and there they met her.

Margeline Boosom. Margeline Bossom was an elderly woman dry and shameless, and so all the movements shouted at the face that made him waste his time. Despite that, she remained perfectly polite, and everything in her stature indicated that she came from an important family and especially: rich. She wore jewellery that would have allowed a family like the Weasleys to live ten years without work, and her dress alone was probably more than anything Snape ever had. However, she had the presumption that she had the right not to associate money with good taste.

Once they had presented themselves and given her the papers that were accumulating in their hands, she opened her own forms and began to fill them.

"Well, I'm going to ask you a few questions to finalize the procedure."

"Mr. Potter, are you a pureblood?"

"No."

She frowned as if he had just said something stupid. " So, I do not see why my services are necessary." She replied dryly.

"Because my full name is Harry James Potter Gryffindor, Duke of Peverell, Madam."

The women's eyes widened, and the potion professor had to refrain himself from gasping. She feverishly noted this information on her papers before turning to Snape.

"And you are the guardian, I suppose you are pure blood, and nothing more than the purest families could take care of a descendant of one of the founders, even with a... problematic ascendance." Snape narrowed his eyes.

Harry was used of the allusion about his mother's worth, but he surely had to refrain himself from exploding the woman's skull on the spot.

"My name is Severus Tobias Snape, and I'm a half-blood." He said that with a kind of aggressive pride that provoked a grimace on the woman's face. If a glare could kill, that woman would be dead, buried, burnt and ashes throw in the wind.

Harry thought she obviously did not read the newspapers, or anything else that might have been touched beforehand by someone who had a drop of muggle blood in his veins. Besides, if he did not know Snape, if only by name, and he lacked respect for his blood in such a visible way, you had to be silly or live in a cave. The man had a certain reputation. And everybody knew that the mother of the-boy-who-lived was a muggleborn, so what was she trying to achieve?

She coughed in her hand with an embarrassed and disgusted air.

"Well, I'm going to put the tutoring in the pure-blood register ..." She forced them to fill out forms for almost an hour, stamping at all times, her emaciated hands gripping the papers as if they were going to escape, muttering between her teeth how inadmissible it was Respect for the people who deserved it, the Real Wizards. She eventually handed the file back to her, and Snape and Harry stood up.

"Madam, all I need is in the files, now?" He asked politely.

Snape notices that his eyes were shining more than they should. He left his hand near his wand, just in case.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Oh, no, I forgot something, but it's for the ministry ..." The boy turned to his teacher.

"You should go and finalize the file to save time, I'll find my way, do not worry, do you meet the statue when you're done?" Snape frowned, but left all the same.

He could not see why he had felt apprehensive in front of an eleven-year-old child, especially since what Harry was proposing made sense. But his instinct ...

The woman leaned over and gave a final document for Harry to sign. He was executed, taking care to erase the notion of Gryffindor from the doctrine of a discreet gesture of his wand. He had not mentioned it before, and he had a reason for it: he did not want Dumbledore to know about this particular aspect of his ancestry.

He had checked that the woman had not noticed him anywhere on the other papers before he let Snape go. He had used it only to be sure that the woman would behave, which she didn't. He returned the paper.

"Are you the only one working here?" She looked at him questioningly.

"No Mr. Potter, there are nearly ten people assigned to this department."

"We are right next to the department of forgetting and repairing magical incidents, madam?"

"Yes Mr. Potter." Her voice was less safe with a slight tremor.

"I see, thank you, madam. Now could you tell me your name?" His voice wasn't more than a whisper.

" Margeline Bossom." He locked his eyes into her's.

"What is my name?"

"Harry James Potter."

He took a step forward.

"What is my full name?"

"Harry James Potter Gryffindor, duke of Peverell."

"That's foolish." He was talking to the old woman like a parent who would have caught her child lying.

"I guess it is..."

The child's mind closed on the old woman's. Her heart beat slower and slower.

"What is my name?" He repeated.

"Harry James Potter Gryffindor, isn't it?"

"No, now you're not making any effort, Margeline. What is your name?"

She was troubled. She hesitated for a moment, but replied with great conviction.

"Margeline Bossom, Sir." He smiled at her.

"And what is my name?"

"Ha-" She frowned, as if searching for something, then under her insistent gaze, continued. "Harry James... Potter?"

"That's it, that's much better, bet you can do even more I think. Don't you, Magreline?"

"Ye- yes, Sir."

"So, tell me Margeline, what is my name?"

"Harry James Potter, Duke of Peverell."

"Very good, Margeline, very good. Have a good day. Oh, and your clothes are atrocious." He said lightly, a bit of cheer in his voice. He flashed her an innocent smile, and left.

Behind him, the old woman began to tear her jacket. Harry was not used to being so cruel. He did not particularly like it, not enough to look for it. But she had insulted her mother, and she had insulted Snape. And as his guardian, Snape was part of his family.

No one insults a family member without paying the price.

He caught Snape lightly. The professor had just arrived in front of the statue. Without a word, they plunged into the hearth.

They appeared again in Dumbledore's office. It was past noon. Snape was exhausted, and walked toward the door without a word or a look at Harry.

The boy grabbed his hand, and the professor stopped immediately. He hasn't used to physical contact. And from Potter, it was even more surprising. Especially because of the boy's condition. He turned to meet the vibrating green gaze of the child. He wanted to withdraw his hand. He should have given him a detention for this simple gesture: for whom did he take himself? He was still his teacher, the head of his house, an adult that he needed to respect, and...

"Thank you."

There was silence.

The passage to the ministry had been harsh, and Snape's mood was massacring. He had not been insulted like that for years. But there was something in the child's eyes, in the gentleness of his gestures, in the simple expression of his face, in the tone of his voice that was so unlike everything else which calmed him. He was looking at him with some kind of joyful and bitter knowledge. As if he had seen, understood everything, and his thanks were for the simple fact that the man lived and was there in front of him. It was a sincerity that Snape hadn't seen in his life before.

Snape should have given him a detention. But he didn't talked, nor did he withdraw his hand.


	16. Chapter 15

Hy! Christmas chapter, ironically in june, but what can I do? As always, I wish you a good reading and thak you all for your Fav/ follow/ reviews!

Warning: the usual

Chapitre 15

Harry waited several minutes in Dumbledore's office after Snape's departure. He strolled into the large room, observing the various objects that were placed on the shelves. There were all sorts of shapes and colours, some in wood, some in gold, but Harry could not guess their use. Many were covered with runes.

A little noise in the silence caught his attention. Hand on his wand, he walked to a section of the office in which he had never been. The walls were covered with miscellaneous books, but Harry did not notice them. On a table, not an office, in the centre of the room, was the most magnificent creature the child ever saw.

A Phoenix.

Harry approached slowly, taking care that his footsteps made no noise so as not to frighten the animal. The phoenix stood straight on its perch, its iridescent feathers flaming in the semi darkness of the room. His ink-black beak rattled. The beast looked at Harry, the thin feathers forming a toupee on the top of his head gently moving.

Harry stepped forward a little more since the bird was not frightened. He made little noises, a kind of owl but much more melodious. Gathering all his courage, the boy finally put his trembling fingers on the bird, which snorted at pleasure at this contact. Taking back confidence, Harry stroked his silky feathers. The bird was hot. Harry felt slight sparks of inflamed magic pecking at his fingers. He let go a puff that he had not realized he had retained. The bird hummed beneath his caresses, and without them knowing why this song made him happy. It warmed his heart.

"Looks like he likes you."

Harry did not jump, but his heart leapt.

Dumbledore looked at him over half-moon glasses, a small smile on his lips, his blue eyes twinkling as usual. He seemed to have adopted a darker dress style than usual, with long, simple red robes. He had arranged his beard and long silvery hair in a complicated braid. With a wave of his hand he lit the chimney, and advanced towards the bird to caress it in his turn. Reciting his master, the phoenix snuggled against his hand, a happy look on his face.

"He rarely let strangers approach him." The headmaster commented.

"Maybe I'm not a stranger ..."

The words came out of the child's mouth before he had time to reflect on their meaning, but in a way, Dumbledore seemed to understand it.

"Who knows?" He replied simply with a little laugh.

The fire made the feathers of the bird radiate.

"His name is Fawkes," the old man told him.

"Hello, Fawke, good to meet you." Harry could not help touching the bird. It was so fascinating! One of the few immortal creatures that roamed the world, but it was not immortality that interested Harry. It was the intelligence he perceived in the bird's black eyes.

"You wanted to talk to me, headmaster?" He asked finally, reluctantly pulling his eyes from the bird.

"Indeed, indeed. Your passage to the ministry has gone well?"

"Nothing exploded and Professor Snape did not kill anyone, so I would say yes."

Dumbledore burst out laughing. "Good! I was worried about the behaviour of some of the ministry's employees..."

"Oh, you were right! They were atrocious. Do you approve my choice, headmaster?"

"I do not think you really need my approval." The old man replied matter-of-factly. Harry did not answer, there was nothing to answer. "But yes, I do. It's interesting how our choices define our lives ..." Dumbledore murmured, his eyes lost in the vague. Then he resumed, and turned to Harry, as Fawkes went to perch on his shoulder. "Professor McGonagall does not cease to praise your merits, my boy, and she is not the only one."

Harry did not react and continued to stare at the old man. There was no malice in his gaze, no coldness. He could not see where he was going.

Dumbledore motioned for him to sit in one of the velvet armchairs near the fireplace. "Your teachers say that you are very sensitive to magic, even in its most minute aspects."

"I cannot say, sir, I am only in first grade."

"Of course, of course." Harry knew perchance that Dumbledore was not going to stick to this excuse, the man was far from being silly, and it would have been a mistake to think otherwise would be suicidal. However, Dumbledore just looked at him amusedly and added nothing.

"I just wanted to tell you that you are quite gifted, you see, my boy. I can't wait to look at what you will be able to achieve in time." Harry thought that if it was only up to him, the old man wouldn't be able to see anything or to live to this point. But it wasn't. Considering, Harry was surprised that the headmaster had never tried to look into his head. Not that he regretted it, to hide occlumency was really hard to achieve and the boy was pretty sure to fail in front of the headmaster, but still.

Harry knew Dumbledore had reasons. He respected that. But he couldn't stop to hate him to his guts. And to admire him somehow. He wondered how much he knew about him.

"Tell me, Harry, why do you think you went into Slytherin?"

The boy frowned. What could he answer? Because he was a murderer, had predispositions for the dark arts, under the Dark Lord's sort-of-protection, because he was cunning, Parselthongue? He had every reason to go into Slytherin.

Then, he chooses to tell the truth, or what was the truth when McGonagall had put the hat on his head.

"The hat hesitated, you know? Between my house and Gryffindor. But I choose Slytherin."

The headmaster looked at the boy with surprise. "Why?"

Harry flashed him an innocent smile. "Because everybody wanted me to be in Gryffindor."

"That's a very Gryffondorish thing to do..."

"Well, what can I say? The apple doesn't fall far from the apple tree even if it does some odd things in the middle." The boy said, rising an eyebrow. "Yet I am sure I fit in the snake's house, as the sorting hat put me there. To be honest, I don't quite understand the hate against the Slytherins. Did we already have this reputation... in your time?"

Dumbledore looked quite thoughtful, but didn't answered.

"You're fitting well with your classmates?"

"Well, yes, considering." Dumbledore looked at him behind his glasses as to ask more.

"Sir, the parents of my classmates at best worked for the man that killed my parents, at worst actively tried to kill them, their friends, and by extension, me. I'd say we didn't started on the best circumstances."

A flash of amusement passed in the man's eyes. "I see. How, it is that late? And you haven't eaten yet. You can go, my boy, I wouldn't put myself between you and your food!"

Harry could have sight. He was tense in front of the headmaster, without knowing quite why. To be angry, stressed, desperate by the man, he could have understood. But that was something much deeper, some sort of strange apprehension coming from his stomach.

"Thank you, goodbye headmaster."

But Harry didn't go to eat. He was more than fine with an empty stomach, a habit he had kept from the Dursleys. Instead, he headed back to his dorms. The boys had put things together a clean the room before leaving. Harry was the only Slytherin to stay during the holidays, and he was pretty sure almost the only one in the school. He could have gone and do Christmas with Damien, but they never had done it before, it wasn't natural for any of them. Harry wasn't quite sure of what he was supposed to do at Christmas. Of what he was supposed to do with _all these socks_. Anyway, he was quite pleased to have all the Slytherins rooms for himself. The common room seemed cold and empty without the students, and Harry liked it. He didn't have to pretend, here. No painting, no ghost, nothing and no one to tell, spy or stop what he was doing. He hissed to call Ananta, and the snake went happily curling around him.

 **"Where were you?"** asked the snake, hissing with joy under the boy's caress.

 **"To the ministry, as I told you."**

 **"What's a ministry?"**

 **"A very boring but important place. It's where wizards take their decisions for important things."**

 **"I ssseee. But I don't like when you're away."**

 **"I know but I couldn't bring you, they would have hurt you. Humans don't quite like snakes as big as you..."**

 **"Yes! Ananta is big and strong! And hungry!"**

 **"You're always hungry, what do you do with all the food I give you?"**

 **"I eat it, mostly."**

 **"Sarcasm? That's new."**

He had a fond smile on his face. No, really, he didn't understand why people hated snakes. And liked dogs instead, really, it was absurd.

As he was a practical being, he took his book, parchment and quills, sat on the floor, all his work around him, the snake on his shoulders, and started with his homework. It took him only a few hours to take care of all of it, he didn't really need to look into the books thanks to the knowledge he had accumulated. As always, the passion essay was the trickiest one, but Harry mostly focused on the runes. He hadn't really study this subject with attention until then, and if he was still at the top of his class, he felt like there was much more to do with that subject. So much for staying average, that plan had lasted a week or two. Harry loved magic too much to degrade it voluntarily.

When he finally stood up, casting a spell to order the mess he used to call "work place", his back, legs and ankles protested. He winced a bit and casted a Tempus. He was right on time for tea. And if Damien had put something in Harry's head, it was to never, never be late for tea.

The boy went into the empty hall without seeing anyone, Ananta around his neck, reduced to the size she had when she was just a baby. She didn't like it, she was so proud of being big, but preferred it than to be separated from her master. She was still sook from the time he had left her two days alone without warning.

The corridors were peaceful. Harry let his hand caress the walls of stone, felling the bas-relief under his fingers. It felt like it was a different place, a different castle. It felt more like home.

He wished his brother could see all of that. He had thought many time about bringing him home, giving him a correct education, well an official education anyway. But it was probably too much magic for him, he would feel sick. And he was sure that Damien wouldn't like to be trapped under rules again. At least, at the manor, he was free to come and go and to schedule his days on his own. And there was Mia. For nothing on the world Damien would leave her alone, and even if it hurt Harry a bit, he couldn't help but to agree. He missed him. Sometimes, he had to remember that his brother wasn't there, by his side.

The real reason he did not go home was Dumbledore. He was supposed to live alone, in fact wanting to go back to an empty mansion, with no one to watch him, would not only complicate Snape's life, but would be very, very suspicious. From the point of view of the information available to the old man, it made no sense.

The hall's tables had been pushed on the sides of the room, to let only one in the middle, and another one – probably for the teachers- in front of the Christmas tree. Harry founded it awkward, plus it would mean he could not eat alone on the Slytherin's table as he expected, but it could be a way to meet new people.

Anyway, the room was empty, no one had the decency to remember the tea. It was strange to be in the empty hall in the middle of the afternoon.

Rays of white light crossed the tiles of the large windows to illuminate the room gently. The teacher's table had been removed and replaced by the biggest Christmas tree Harry had ever seen. His multi-coloured decorations glittered joyfully, and candles had been placed in his branches at regular intervals, protected by a spell.

The boy settled in and called an elf for tea and biscuits. A few minutes later, he was nursing his cup and nibbled cakes, as always delicious. He let the beverage warm his hands and throat. He had not brought a book, so he stood there quietly sitting on his bench without thinking. It did him so much good, just for a moment, not to think. Alone.

Oh, Merlin how he missed Damien. He already regretted not returning home for the holidays. What if Damien was hurt? What if he had another crisis? What if he was feeling lonely, as Harry was? What if he was sad, who would comfort him? What if-

He sat cross-legged on the bench, concentrating on his breathing.

Inhale Exhale.

In, out.

The air was true against his throat warmed by tea. He smelled the smell of leaves, water, and porcelain. The sound of rain on the tiles.

When was it raining? The drops hit the glass, clicking, plic, ploc.

The crumbs of the cake smelled of chocolate. He had come to appreciate this smell.

In, out. He felt the fire, the wax flowing.

The wood, the spicy smell of the table wood. He passed a finger over it and felt the kinks of the veins of the tree that had given this piece of furniture. The cold stone slabs, under his feet, polish by time and thousands and thousands of wizards. The worked metal that reiforced the doors, the darker wood that formed them. The thorns of the fir tree, its sap, its bark, that pungent odour of winters. The magic sky of the hall. A thick mist, of thorns and runes as soft as silk, shifting, changed. The magic that ran along the pillars, along the flagstones, filling the buttresses, the chiselled stone, him.

And then, the coloured garlands. He smiles. He could feel the light settling on his skin as the day declined. He remembered Damian's smile, how he'd danced with that light. From the heat that had reappeared in Harry's cold body when he finally said I'm alive. I am alive, and I am not alone. The warmth of the summer wind on the day when they finally met. The sparkle of his grey eye when he had seen the library at the Potters mansion. He let the joy invade him, he let his magic circle around him. He let it sing.

He was not alone. He would never be, never again. Something landed on his hand and made him open his eyes. The butterfly shone from blue to gold, then to a bright red, dyeing his pale skin. They were flying all around him. He noticed that they were made of ice, as it was the closest thing he had found to the glass that he had used the first time.

"What did these damn brats do again?" Cried Flinch's hoarse voice behind the doors.

Albus Dumbledore was perplexed. He definitely did not know what to think about the young Harry Potter. The seeing go to Slytherin had been a shock, seeing him fighting Slytherin's ideas an even bigger shock.

The all-powerful headmaster was sitting behind his desk, contemplating the flames of the fireplace, which made him look empty. He caressed abstractly the golden feathers of Fawkes.

The old man knew that Voldemort was alive. Or still existing, in a way he didn't understand. He also knew that young Harry would play a key role in his fall, or at least he hoped. Son of two brilliant and brave, regretted Gryffindor, he should have had a similar character. Raised by muggles, he should have had limited magical skills and knowledge, compensated by a certain talent. Raised by Petunia Dursley, he should have been shy, perhaps rebellious, still wishing for a family.

But there was something strange about this child. He was charming, gifted and intriguing. He was obviously a genius. Just as Tom Riddle had been at his age, yet in a different way. Just as Grin-

Dumbledore shuddered. He had made this mistake once, he would not do it again. He would not have lost this child. Yet he was old – and tired. He really didn't know if he could get through another war, another conflict, another Dark Lord.

It was something strange than to grow old. He could remember many things, the good, the bad, the name of each elf of the castle and all the properties of dragon blood, yet he did not know at all where he could put his best pair of socks- a wonder, all stuffed, comfortable, warm, perfect for winters.

The passing cloud faded from Dumbledore's usually merry spirit.

Deciding to keep an eye on Harry if he was to make sure he was on the right track, Dumbledore went down to the hall, a bit early, for dinner, as the teachers didn't eat with the students during the holidays. Most of them stayed in their private rooms, but the headmaster always liked to stay in the hall, watching over the kids.

He greeted the paintings as he passed through the corridors and quickly descended the stairs. He slowed down when he saw Snape and Quirell at the door, watching through the chatter. These two men could not bear each other, for many reasons involving Snape's suspicions about his colleague, suspicions to which Dumbledore adhered to some extent. And yet they both stood there, arms dangling, without entering the hall. He felt a great, great magic force around them. Lights glided through the gap, lightly colouring their faces.

Curious, he slipped behind them, observing what captivated their attention.

The Child was there, seated on one of the benches, a teapot with a bunch of cakes in front of him. His eyes were closed, and one might have thought that he was asleep if he had not held himself upright.

Around him lights floated gently. It took the headmaster a moment to recognize butterflies, butterflies of pure light. They were flying all over the room, turning the hall into a magical world in its own right.

It was wonderful.

The Child smiled. Then he opened his eyes when one of his creations came to rest on his hand, watching the insect with a kind of curious wonder.

It was so innocent, so pure. It remided the old man that the child was just that, a child.

"What did these damn brats do again?" Cried Flinch's hoarse voice a little further down the corridor.

Immediately everything disappeared. Flich appeared, one Weasley twin in each hand, furious and his cat on his keels. The two brothers had a grin on their faces. It was the first time in almost a month they got caught!

Harry got out of the hall to see what was happening, and couldn't help but to smirk at the sight.

"Headmaster, I've had enough! These two were trafficking the pipes! Again!"

"Calm down, calm down, Mr Flich. I'm sure a detention will be given to these two along with a few points taken by their head of the house."

Harry laid on the wall, contemplating the scene with a franc amusement. Seeing his expression, Georges spit out his tongue, making that boy raise a single eyebrow, arms crossed on his chest.

Mumbling like never before, Flich continued his path to McGonagall's office. A few other students- mostly sixth and seventh year- were wathing the scene too. The Weasley Brother's antics were one of the main attraction of the school. Their elder brother, Percy, looked very, very unpleased by all this, but he stood still and said nothing.

Harry ate quickly before returning to his dorm, he didn't like to be in a room full of people with Ananta, it was too risky. Even more with the looks Ron gave with every now and then. The redhead was up to something, and now Harry was pretty much alone and his hands tied by the teachers' presence and attention.

Harry was tired. Not even bothering to change, he only quit his shoes, climbed up on his bed and curled on the sheets, Ananta between his arms and on his shoulders, and for the first time in the Slytherin's dorm let himself fell asleep completely.

 _ **Harry Potter: Adopted!**_

 _ **The Ministry officially announced that the Boy-Who-Lived tutoring file had been deposited and acceded to the Magic Children Management Office.**_

 _ **But who is the lucky one?**_

 _ **After long hours of unsuccessful search, it seemed to your very reporter that this information was the best kept in Britain. Yet, a few hours later, the minister himself made a statement. "It has been brought to your attention that the family of our national hero is tragically deceased in an accident involving Muggle objects, so the child should have been entrusted to an orphanage, however we decided that in view of its status it would be much better for the child to stay among our own.**_

 _ **Yesterday morning, young Mr. Potter was placed under the tutoring of the head of the Slytherin House, in which he is, Professor Severus Snape. It goes without saying that the department and Professor Dumbledore endorse this choice and wish the young Harry Potter a long and joyful life. "**_

 _ **And so, my dear readers! The mystery is finally lifted, or is it? Yet, I ask myself a question, and I am sure that it is also your case, dear readers: Why this choice? Indeed, dear reader, many of you understand the positions of Professor Severus Snape during the war, which are to say the least shady. Some of them with children in Hogwarts will know that the character corresponds, according to the testimony that your dear reporter could gather, in every respect to his reputation. Moreover, it has been reported to us that the man would have a most doubtful ancestry: why was the young Mr. Potter entrusted to such a strange personage?**_

 _ **All we know about Professor Snape, P3.**_

 _ **What are the implications for the title and attitude of the young Lord Potter?**_ _ **P5**_

 _ **The reaction of Lord Malfoy. P7**_

Snape was not a morning person. He often went to bed late to correct his copies or evaluate the samples, he often slept very badly, hated to have to get up, all the more to go back to school, And all this gave a person who should not be irritated before the coffee.

But this morning, Rite Seekers decided otherwise. Unfortunately, he had no way of physically throwing him a book or a spell, so he just sighed and looked at the paper with the obvious intention of pushing it into self-combustion.

He turned the page.

Of course, the article about him brought nothing new. Rita was simply putting doubt on her role as a spy during the war, invoking his disgraceful physique, the fact that he was a half-blood, all the more disinherited, nevertheless considered as a genius in his section with several published papers, and had become the head of the Slytherin House under the instigation of Dumbledore. The part about his possible romantic relationships made him laugh more than anything else.

The other article spoke mainly of Potter's claims of his unknown political alignment, although his family had always supported the light behind Dumbledore. Everything was merely an unfounded assumption, and from that Snape had seen the child, the ministry was going to have some surprises when he was old enough to claim real political power.

The third was an interview with Lucius indicating in a complicated, learned and very polite way that he accepted Harry's choice, and nothing else. It took almost two pages. Hell, it was no surprise that the man was able to get through his trial.

He closed the newspaper and was about to get up when something caught his attention. The information had been relegated to the end in view of the scandal that Potter's tutoring was likely to create, but it was there.

 _ **An employee of the department, mad?**_

 _ **Margeline Bossom, an official in the ministry, seems to have lost her mind. The fifty-threeyear-old woman involved in the management of pure-blood registers walked almost entirely naked through the ministry, provoking the shock of other employees and visitors, who were clearly unprepared for this view. The woman was arrested by frightened Aurors while she tried to tear what remained of her skirt, the circumstances of her condition have not yet been explained.**_

Snape leaned against the back of his chair, his black eyes betraying the calculations his mind was trying to do at full speed.

Harry had passed so many days and hours at the library that he was pretty much hidden by walls of books, if not buried under them. The first two days, the librarian had tried to make him returned the books in the shelve for the night, but it was no use and she just let him do whatever he wanted to as long as everything was in order for the other students' return.

He had abandoned the tables and chair to sit on the corniche formed by the stones on front of one of the windows. Like that, he could see the snow fall on the Forbidden Forest while working. Well, it wasn't really work.

As Harry had read on Dumbledore's card, Nicholas Flamel was an alchemist. Therefore, Harry was looking into what the hell was alchemy. At first, he had thought it some sort of transfiguration, but it was actually much more than that. If transfiguration was the act to use magic to turn an object into the form of another object, alchemy was the art of changing the very nature of the object into another nature. That was why the magic had to step on potions, runes or artefacts to do so, and the chances of success were very small. It was fascinating. It was one of the highest magic that had been invented, and considered as light, which was even better, because therefore it was legal everywhere. Under restriction, as every type of magic, but legal.

Not that Harry really cared about legality, but if he could do things without risking Azkaban, well it was better.

He found out somewhere that the reason wizards were using actual gold, silver and (bronze), unlike the muggle who were using paper and still, giving said worthless objects a worth of believe, was because if you could transfigure these, it was some of the hardest thing to do and it never lasted more than hour or two. Plus, you couldn't invoke it without draining all the magic of an average wizard. No way of becoming rich by cheating with magic.

But greed was a common disease in the wizarding world. That's why alchemists had tried for years if not centuries to find a way to turn pretty much everything without value into shinning gold, and had fails until...

Harry narrowed his eyes and stopped writing. Until Nicholas Flamel had invented the philosopher's stone, which not only turned lead into gold, but produced a liquid which could...

Which could give eternal life...

By healing every disease...

The boy couldn't help but to gasp. He had found it.

Now he had to redo the story. Harry closed the book (which he had absolutely no right to read as it was a fourth's year book, but the librarian couldn't see him where he was), and took another parchment to concentrate. First, Dumbledore is a friend of Flamel. As Flamel was more than six hundred years old, he was using the stone for himself, probably for his family too. Which meant that it was indeed working, and that he needed the stone to keep surviving. But, the stone was now in the school, protected by the tree head dog and probably other things of the same sort, which meant that something had changed and pushed Dumbledore to separate his friend from the thing that was keeping him alive. He had a very good idea of who had caused the problem, and why, but he needed to be sure and to know how. He needed to see what power He really still had. Meaning if Harry would have to run, join or fight, to what extent and under which condition.

He stood up, managed to get out of his fortress without making any book's pile fall and went calmly to the librarian's desk.

"Excuse me, Miss," he whispered, "do you have archive of the newspapers?"

"You mean the Daily Prophet? It's the only wizard's paper here in England. And unfortunately, no, we don't. It is no use for the students, and I don't understand why a smart young man like you would want to read this type of things."

"I see, thank you Miss."

Returning to his place, he took a parchment, and a quill and started writing.

 _Dear Brother,_

 _I hope that you are well, or at least alive, with both arms and legs, and that you haven't make my family's house explode._

 _How's Mia? You know that she must return home sometimes if you don't want to have muggle cops on our backs, and probably Aurors._

 _I'm almost all alone in the castle, which is good for my projects but bad for my happiness, but I guess you know the struggle. Anyway, I'm trying to stay out of trouble, but now that I'm the only one of the band here, I have a big target on my back, and I know that a certain redhead can't wait to take advantage of that. I almost wish he do, you know, that way his brothers could start driving away from him, and I could be an innocent victim._

 _Anyway, I have found things about the hidden things, and I would need your help. I know you have classified every Daily Prophet we received, and I would like you to look into it. I'm looking for an aggression, breaking, robbery, desperation, or something of this type in a very guarded place or in a place related to Dumby or N.C. I think I've found something very interesting for both of us, and probably for a certain Lord I know. I'll tell you more in person, when I will return home. I think I'll do so for the spring holidays, but it may change, you know Hogwarts._

 _I send you my notes I took in potion's class, I thought it could interest you, and a few things I found about runes._

 _I miss you. Take care of you and be careful. Don't piss of Gladis._

 _Harry_

With a flick of his wand, Harry put all the books he wasn't supposed to read in place and almost run to the owlery. It took him a while to find Onyx. He patted the bird and attached his letter to his paw before watching it fly away. He let the cold wing mess up with his hair, which was now quite long enough to pass his shoulders, but the temperature made him return to the warm castle.

He was too preoccupied to eat, and once again headed back to his dorm, Ananta curled around his wrist.

 _He was sitting. In front of him, a door. I was dark all around him. He heard a step above. And another. Making the door sake, making the stairs shake. How could this man even walk?_

 _Freak was afraid. It was the first time he had to go out of the house. He hated the house. But what was outside was unknown, and therefore even more frightening._

 _"Freak! Wake up and make breakfast!"_

 _Freak did. He wasn't good at making food, if the flying plates he had to avoid was any indication._

 _They were in a good mood, today. He hadn't been hurt yet._

 _"It's the first day of class of my dear Dudly! Ow, how I'm proud of you. Look at your son, Vernon! A handsome boy, nice and... perfect."_

 _"Indeed, indeed. You are a big boy, now, aren't you, Dudley? Six years old, and your first day of school!" Answered Vernon. Petunia made a "aaaaw" of fondness as the son and the father stood together in front of her._

 _He hated her voice. It was too high, to happy, too lovely for that fat blob of stupidity she dared call a son. It didn't have any when she talked to him. At first, it hurt, but then, he understood he didn't deserved it._

 _And then he understood she didn't deserve it. Vernon was in front of his Tele. At least he didn't look at Freak. Freak was hungry, but he didn't say a thing. He had eaten two days ago, and of he behaved, he could hope for a meal this evening._

 _They were now in a room with a lot of other children, about the same age. Dudley had call it a "class". Then he had punch Freak, but he had already healed by the time he had sit at his place. Freak always healed fast and alone, that was a part of his freakiness._

 _A woman entered in the room and started calling the children's names. Every time, they hold their hand, and she go on. Freak decided to imitate them._

 _"Dudley Dursley..." Dudley rose his hand. And the woman go on._

 _"Harry Potter."_

 _Nobody rose a hand. Freak didn't understand, why that Harry didn't want to answer the lady? He would be punished, wouldn't he?_

 _Dudley turned toward him, looking at him with a mix of pity, surprise and mock. He rose from his chair, and Freak thought he was going to punch him. But he didn't, he took Freak's hand and rose it. Everybody was looking at him. Everybody was looking at the Freak._

 _Freak understood._

 _He was Harry Potter._

Harry woke up. He looked at the ceiling, regaining his calm, controlling his breathing. He cast a Tempus. He had slept past noon! Well, he couldn't say that he didn't deserved to rest a little, and it was so rare for him to stay in bed that he indulged it. Ananta was still curled around him, sleeping peacefully.

 **"Hey small one, it's more than time to get up ..."**

 **"Another one or two little hours ... Please, Speaker ..."**

 **"No no no it's past noon."**

 **"But it's been so long that Ananta could not sleep with Speaker!"** The enormous serpent snarled, rolling a little more around him.

Harry smiled. He had always loved the sensation of scales slipping on his skin.

 **"Stop, you tickle me!"**

 **"I only stop if Speaker is sleeping a little longer."** Annunced Ananta, slipping a little more around his waist.

Harry burst out laughing under the sensation **"Okay, okay, but just an hour, and then we get up."**

 **"Ananta is pleased that Speaker has returned to his senses."**

Harry sighed and cuddled on his bed, taking advantage of the warmth of the sheets. Ananta was right, it had been a long time that he had not slept at his side, and to tell the truth, it had been a long time that he had not let himself sleep completely. He gently caressed the serpent's head, humming an air he had in my head. He did not know where this song came from, he did not listen to music, and had almost never heard anything other than the few notes of the advertisements that were on television, or in the loudspeakers of shopping centre.

But he loved this song. She reassured him, reminded her of something comfortable. Maybe his mother used to sing her to him when he was a baby and he kept her?

He liked that idea. He imagined a beautiful woman. He did not really remember Lily's face, even after seeing the pictures; This face was foreign to him. Then he replaced him with the one he had always imagined, perfect and impersonal, fuzzy, moving as his imagination. She had flaming red hair, he remembered that. He imagined big green eyes, a bit like his, but sweeter, more natural, more human. A soft smile, a facetted at the corner of the mouth.

She would look him in the eye without trembling, without calculating, just to catch her attention to show her that she was there. And she would sing. Her voice would be high, just, with imperfections, some false notes that would make it stop and laugh a little.

He was singing, imagining his voice to be that of the woman in front of him. He could not think of her as his mother. It was an idea, something much more perfect, not even a memory. It was a puppet that he had made and which suited him, which comprised every inch of his being, which comforted him, put him to bed and arranged the sheets around him that would have kissed his forehead. before saying good night.

He did not know why, but he still felt an echo of regret. This did not correspond to the illusion he had created, it did not correspond to himself. But it passed, leaving him in his cloud of idea, sounds, colours.

If Harry had been able to bring his parents back to life, he would not have done so. He loved this idealized idea too much. He loved too much that absence which he could fill as he wished. In this absence, he had total control. He could not be disappointed, he could not be hurt.

He let his hand caress the scales of the snake that had snuggled up against him.

Often, he wondered if Damien regretted his parents. He never talked about his mother, and Harry thought it was okay not to ask the question, he did not want him to feel too many bad emotions at once. But his father? Harry had met him, he had been in his head. The man was atrocious. His ideas were misty with alcohol, twisted by pain, rendered impotent by stupidity. But Harry knew that one could be attached to this kind of person, in spite of pain and anger. We were still attached to something profound which united a family and which resisted even the worst assaults.

Damien had told him about his father at first. He had told him what the man had done to him. But he had said it angrily. When one feels anger, it is that one is still attached to the person. His brother had never asked him what he had done. Sometimes he had looked at him with apprehension, sometimes he had cried, sometimes he had blamed himself, beating his head, shouting that he was a bad son, a bad person. Harry had always been there, taking him in his arms, taking his guilt, he who did not feel any.

And then it happened. One morning the boy had spoken without anger, and Harry knew he had mourned.

But alone in his manor, far from him, did Damien sometimes look at the ceiling as Harry did now, thinking about how his life might have been if his father was still there? Regretting having accepted?

Harry knew that he let his thoughts lead him into delirium. But he could not help but feel this ball of fear deep inside him.

The fear of being alone.

The fear of losing.

He shook his head and moved the serpent's body, deciding it was time to move, just to change his mind.

He went to shower, which was always some sort of battle as he had to avoid touching some places more misshapen than the others, and finally got out of the dorms. He took a book about runes and decided to go out. He needed some fresh air, and Ananta liked playing in the snow. He had to avoid some of the angry snowmen, but he had found a path, a bit longer, still without snow creatures trying to harm him.

Once he was sure they were hidden from the view, he gave the snake her size back and let her wander around. He walked by the lake. He liked the sound of the water against the rocks. He liked the pure loneliness of the lake.

A somewhat lost snowman had the audacity of passing before the serpent, who attacked him with a bound, planting her sharp fangs in the enchanted snow. The snowman did not let himself go and counter-attacked by tapping her with his wooden arms before trying to run away by making his base awkwardly roll. He only succeeds in one more assault, so that the poor creature may be reduced to a pile of powder.

Tired of playing (meaning chasing and killing everything she could find that was below her own size), Ananta came to follow her master's steps.

It was cold. Harry didn't really like the cold weather, he was more a summer boy, but he couldn't stay in a closed space for more than a few days in a raw. His chicks reddened and he cursed that Scottish weather.

The sky was cold blue and there wasn't any wind. Suddenly, he had an idea. Of course, he wasn't really authorised but... it wasn't like anybody was there to see him.

With a small grin, he went to the Quidditch pit.

He slipped under the bleachers and turned around until he found the locker where the brooms were enclosed. He let Ananta curl around a pillar of the bleachers.

" _Alohomora._ " He murmured.

A blanket light illuminated the lock for a moment before it opened with a rattle.

Harry grabbed a broomstick and headed for the field. If the empty castle gained charm by its calm, the empty stadium lost its soul. The boy felt as if he heard the ghostly echoes of the shouts of joy that resonated in the games. The boy mounted his scarf on the end of his nose, which had reddened under the onslaughts of the cold. He rubbed the ends of his fingers, which protruded from his mittens before grabbing the broom.

He stopped on it before tapping his foot to make it take off. Just like the chopsticks, the magic brooms were actually magic capacitors, and Harry was naturally quite comfortable on a broom. The boy had expected in his first flights to feel an embarrassment or pain in view of the condition of his legs, but it seemed that his body accepted the presence of the broom without much protest.

He let himself slide one meter from the ground before pulling the tip of the broom forward and taking the height. He panelled forward, going faster and faster, his hair clads in the back of his skull, persecuted vertically. He felt the adrenaline rush as everything around him transform into an indistinct mist. His heart beat faster and faster, his hands clenched the wood and he aimed at the sky.

Once at the top, he had the impression of being surrounded only by the blue immensity. He stopped, letting his broomstick float. He would have liked not to have to cling to the object and just let himself be overwhelmed by what was around him.

But it was too cold in height to stay still for a long time, so he turned his broomstick down and started a decent in almost free fall. He did not realize that he was shouting that when he finally stopped falling a few meters from the ground, taking a turn to avoid the ground and the bleachers.

He whirled for a long time, making slaloms, increasing his speed then slowing down, eating his hair or letting them stick against his face. He was not paying attention. He had to climb several times his scarf and finally tied it with a knot before slipping the ends under his robes to keep it in place.

He loved speed. He began to climb to get down at full speed. His hands hurt him by clutching the wooden handle, but he ignored the pain. It was liberating to be able to put all its strength into something, to leave all its energy, without thinking, to go faster and faster, to be able to shout because there was no one to hear it.

At no time did he notice the gaze that lay on him from the stands. The wind whirled in his ears.

At no time did he notice that the sky had darkened. Not that he felt the first drops of rain. He was totally absorbed by the sensation of flying. Control, speed, his heart in his temples. And freedom. He was totally free, even of gravity.

Exhausted, he ended up landing on the ground. It was totally soaked. He gasped, shuddered, trembled, rubbed his arms to warm himself. In the rain and cold, the tips of his hair had frozen, and the tips of his fingers were blue.

In short, he was happy.

"You'll catch cold."

Harry did not have time to react that he was already wrapped in a long black coat.

"It's silly to fly in such a weather."

Harry raised his nose, ready to respond with insolence, but Snape did not look at him. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"You're soaking yourself, too, professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I wonder because of who."

Harry chuckled. They both took shelter in the locker room. Harry returned to drop the broom before squeezing the lock again.

"You're not going to give me any detention, Professor?"

"Let's say the cold you're going to catch will be a sufficient punishment." The man replied with a mocking smile. Harry rolled his eyes. It was certain Snape would love to come and laugh at him when he gets stuck in bed.

"Come on, Potter. It's time for the Christmas banquet."

Harry had not realized that he had flown so long. Snape turned around and got ready to leave.

"Wait!"

Harry reached up to where he had hidden Ananta and slammed her tongue. Immediately the snake threw himself into his sleeve to wrap around him.

He pointed his wand at her. " _Diminuendo_." The snake began to shrink to the necessary size so that it could hide under his clothes.

Snape did not comment. He merely signalled to Harry to pass before him, and to invoke an umbrella at the end of his wand.

By the time, he got to the castle, the child was frozen and glad to have the warm black coat on his shoulders, even if he actually went down to his heels and had several times failed to make him stumble.

"I advise you to go quickly to change, Potter. The Christmas meal will start in less than an hour."

"Professor?" Snape raised an eyebrow to keep him going. "What are we supposed to do at Christmas? I mean all the world is talking about something very important, and I do not want to make a mistake or insult someone without doing it on purpose."

Snape smirked at the irony. "It's the same as Muggle Christmas, do not worry."

"And what are we supposed to do during a Muggle Christmas?"

Harry almost burst out laughing under the dubious look that the professor gave him. But he needed to know, being rude at a cultural party could have disastrous consequences, and it was not like he could ask someone else. Damien had never celebrated Christmas.

"You never celebrated Christmas, Potter?"

Harry nodded his head. Snape sighed, but not those exasperated sighs that could pass an incredible number of insults and that he sometimes did while watching Neville's cauldron.

"Well I guess you'll learn on the job. Go change now, before you really catch cold."

Harry obeyed and headed for the dormitories. It was only downstairs that he realized that he had not returned his coat.


	17. Chapter 16

Its... Christmas time! In june, I know I know, well, better than never. For all the reviews talking about a Beta: I'm trying to get one, but it's more difficult that what it look like. If someone whant to take the job, I'll be very happy haha.

Anyway, I'm trying to improve on this aspect. I want to thanks everyone (I didn't though I could get that many readers, It's so cool!). Don't hesitate to review, and good reading!

Warning: the usual

Chapter 16

When Harry arrived in the hall for the Christmas's feast, all the students were reunited on the table he had sit earlier while the teachers were obviously sitting on the staff table. As his hair was still wet, and he didn't know the appropriate spell to drench it, the boy had tied it in a complicated bred which made him somehow look like more feminine and made his eyes appeared bigger. Letting his hair to grow allowed him to have a minimum of control over it, it did not rise in every direction as when he was younger. So, he had twisted his black locks in the same way as the hair of Salazar Slytherin on the painting of the entrance of the Slytherin's common room.

He didn't quite know where to sit. All the Weasley were keeping together, joyfully talking (screaming, Merlin couldn't the Gryffindor keep it quiet sometimes), and he didn't know anyone else.

Therefore, he went to sit at the edge of the table, next to an unknown sixth year Hufflepuff with short curly black hair and narrow teeth. He had a strangely chubby face, given his age. The young man gave him a friendly look, but said nothing when Harry on his right.

"Harry! What are you doing? Come with us!"

The Weasley twins were waving him. He stood up, and when he approached them, they made a place between them. Ron looked very upset.

Harry obliged and sat between them, if only to watch the boy's face becoming redder with anger.

"We ain't gonna let you pass Christmas alone, Harry!" Explained one of them.

"Thank you, Georges."

"I'm Fred!"

Harry imagined that it was a game they were playing with everybody, confuse them on who was who, but the boy knew better than that.

"That's a lie, you're Georges." The two brothers looked at each other, bewildered.

"If he says that he is Fred, he is!" snarled Ron. "Nobody except them can know it."

Harry gave him a unimpressed look. "Georges is at my right, and Fred at my left."

"And who do _you_ know that, Potter?"

Harry thought about what he could say. He clearly couldn't mention the fact that Georges thought about his brother and used the name "Fred" to do so...

"Well, Georges has more freckles, his eyes are a shade brighter than Fred's. Plus, Fred have a scar on his right hand, between the tump and the wrist. And George's hair is a bit messier. They changed their sweater, so Georges is wearing the one with the "f" and Fred the one with the "g". You must be quite oblivious not to be able the tell apart your own brothers, _Weasley_."

Ron opened his mouth, probably to insult the other boy, but Percy's laugh pierced through the air, and everybody's ears.

"My my! You do stand to your reputation, Mr Potter!"

"I don't know if it's a compliment or an insult, but thank you. And you can call me Harry." said the boy with a grin, shaking Percy's hand. He had to act like he didn't knew that the boy was greedy and corrupt, a perfect future employee of the ministry.

Ron was obviously furious and was sending dark looks all around.

"Call me Percy then- when we are at school of course. It's a pleasure to meet someone with some manners around here."

"You should come into the Slytherin's rooms, it's all manners, even during the fights." Laugh Harry, making his beautiful eye shine. Ron's mouth gasped like a fish. A ridiculous red-head fish.

"We were going to tell you not to corrupt Harry..." Started Fred

"But it seems that it is the other way around!" Continued Georges.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I know Slytherins are evil but I'm not going to take your dear brother away from you."

"That's too kind of you, Lord Potter." laugh Percy.

They were interrupted by McGonagall, who hit her glass with the spoon, asking for silence.

The headmaster rose from his sit, arms all open once again, a bright smile on his face. He had let his beard and long white hair free of any ornament, and he was dressed all in plain red, which made him even more look like Santa, but mostly claimed his favour for the Gryffindor house.

"Children, children. I wish you Merry Christmas! In my name, from all your teachers, and I'm sure from Mr Flich..."

"I doubt that..." whispered Fred.

"I don't know why..." Continued his brother.

Harry had to sit back a smirk. Dumbledore was clearly pointing at the twins when he said that.

"Of course, it is my duty, in a school of sorcery, to also celebrate the solstice of winters. An ancient and perpetual tradition, symbolizing the passage of darkness to the return of light. The promise of the future spring, and of all that it brings! But I must confess that I prefer Christmas. I hope your year among us is going well, and that all of you wishes will come true, for you know Christmas is the time for hope, family and happiness! Even for you dears, stuck here with your old professors... But I'm not keeping you away from the delicious food any longer. Bon appétit!"

As he clapped his hands, the table was filled with food. Turkey stuffed with chestnuts, puddings, tarts, various sweet meats, vegetable cakes, seafood, wild meat, a lot of thing that Harry had only heard of, there was enough to feed a regiment.

When he saw how Ron was stuffing himself like he had never eaten and would not have the opportunity after that, Harry thought the regiment should wait. It was really disgusting.

His brothers, probably accustomed, made no comment and concentrated on their own food that they swallowed greedily.

"So, Harry, tell us, why did you stay at the castle for Christmas?"

Percy looked at him with interest. Of course, Harry was fully aware that the only reason for his interest was his fame, perhaps facilitated by the lack of conversation around them. But hey, for the thinking head of the family, at least for those Harry knew, he was breaking idiocy records.

"Well there's no one but me at the manor ..."

The twins shot their eldest brother, who turned pale as he realized his awkwardness. Completely unaware of what was happening around him, Ron continued to stuff himself while making atrocious noises.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that ..." Percy murmured, his nose in his plate to avoid crossing the child's gaze.

His gaze made strange things boil in him. It was as if he was the purest thing, and he had just hurt him. The guilt rolled into a ball in his stomach Harry smiled at him. He wanted to relax the atmosphere, and he was in a good mood.

"Do not worry." He said in a reassuring voice. "And you?"

Visibly pleased to change the subject, Percy continued.

"Our parents went to see our elder brother Charlie, he takes care of dragons in Romania. He left school last year, so they are a little worried, and they took advantage of the first opportunity to fall on the Poor Charlie. "

The twins took on a frightening look that made Harry smile.

"Why you tell our family stories to this snake? " Ron had dropped it between two mouthfuls and looked at Harry wildly. Harry tilted his head to one side, studying the other boy. He was angry, he was frustrated. Jealous. Oh yes, jealousy was consuming him, though Harry did not see how he could be jealous.

"The last time I checked, I was human, at least I think."

"Do not be an idiot, Potter, you know very well what I mean." He turned to his brothers, seeking support. "It's a Slytherin, it's... bad!"

 _Freak._

"No one can know what these guys can do, they're dark wizards!"

 _Monster._

"Tell me little brother, all the food you ate took the place of your brain?"

Harry felt his magic slip out of his grasp. It was not normal, such a weak provocation should not have weakened his will at this point. He focused on it, trying to keep an impassive face.

"How can you judge someone like that?" Fred asked angrily.

"Do not worry Harry, he says stupid suff." Said George, giving him a pat on the back.

That took his breath away. His ears whistled as the pain reeled like venom from the point of impact into the veins, bones and muscles around. Harry squeezed the table so that his knuckles became white. He tried to regain control over his breath.

He could not make a crisis. Not now.

In one way or another, he managed to turn his attention back to what was going on around him. Ron was red with anger and argued more and more noisily against his brothers. No one had noticed anything.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, took a deep tremulous inspiration, and when he opened his eyes, one could have sworn that he had never been better.

"Well, if Ron wants me to leave, then I would go, and I understand that this holiday was something that we did as a family, and I do not want to spend your family on this special day, I should not have come to sit here, it was obviously a mistake, but I thought Ron could behave properly for a few hours. "

All the Weasleys turned to him, mouth ajar with surprised. "But I cannot leave my place without attracting attention, which has already been titled by your shards, so I propose that you ignore me, Ron, because I see no other way to solve this problem that you seem to have with me. "

They were all surprised front of the cordial, almost _friendly_ tone Harry had adopted. Obviously, if Ron were to respond violently to this, he would be considered an idiot - or rather he would reveal his real nature, and in addition would have no excuse in front of the professors if something went wrong. His own family would be a prosecution witness.

And as he had expected, the red-haired man turned towards him with even more anger, his features distorted by a furious pout.

"If you think I do not know what you're doing, Potter ..." he threatened, pronouncing the name of harry as if it were a venom.

"Ron!" This time, Percy had interfered. "You were pretty rude and rude for a meal. Now stop giving you a show for nothing and sit down."

The boy obeyed reluctantly.

The discussions resumed their course, everyone making sure to ignore Ron who drowned his grief in the food.

"So, tell us Harry, what do you think of the magical world?" Asked Percy.

It was unbelievable how much he resembled the employees of the ministry, with his little pinched air and his falsely distinguished manners, which nevertheless betrayed his extraction with every movement.

"I cannot say, I've only been immersed in it for a few months." Harry replied in the tone of the conversation.

He had to concentrate and tighten all his muscles to chase away the pain of his thoughts. He really had a hard time withstanding the inescapable words of the eldest of the Weasleys.

"Oh, I see! I am very interested in politics, and I want to work in the ministry. "

"Percy, leave that poor child out of your annoying chatter!"

"He does't bother me, far from it! You see, Percy, I have access to a piece of political life in the ministry through my grandfather's notes during his lifetime, but I have no idea How things have evolved since then. "

"Well, today the ministry works mainly through the Wizengamot, which is run by the minister, where they pass the laws, the amendments, and they judge criminal cases ..."

 _Merlin, it hurt._

"Wait, do you mean that there is no separation between justice and political power?" Asked Harry incredulously.

"No, why would there be?"

Harry ignored his question and thought. If those who judged the criminals were the same as those who passed the laws, it meant that any enemy of the government, in other words the minister, with a complete record and low popularity could be found in Azkaban without committing any crime. This explained the laxity of punishment within the school itself, and especially the obvious blindness to the various favouritism. Everything was based on a system of favouritism, first by birth, by blood, then by wealth, and finally by positioning.

Percy was interrupted here by the twins, who were beginning to get bored and were preparing pranks.

George glanced at Harry, before rolling a small brown and red ball towards the other end of the table. They went to hide under the table when Harry held them back.

"Not only will everyone know that it is you, but in addition you will not be able to see your work." He whispered.

The pain was a little over and he definitely wanted to enjoy the evening.

"How long before the explosion?"

"About 20 seconds." Murmured Fred.

On this he took a little purée in a spoon and blocked the object so as to form a small catapult. He touched a Hufflepuff in the face, who turned, indignant, and began to throw his own meal on the twins, evidently guilty in his eyes. Harry let the first projectiles reach their side of the table before launching a _Protego_ that will protect him, as well as the twins. A piece of what Harry identified as chestnut turkey landed on Ron, who set out to join the food battle. Within seconds, everyone was involved.

And the Weasley's trap exploded, flying all that was left of the food in all directions and emitting a nauseating odour. Well protected behind the shield, the three companions watched all this with amusement.

"You see, like that, you cannot be accused by anybody, and you've even been quiet when they're all throwing themselves into a most inappropriate food battle."

"Diabolique ..." murmured the twins in heart, impressed.

"Thank you!" The child replied with a mocking smile.

McGonagall had already stood up to put order. With a blow of a wand, everything was cleaned and the dishes rested their appointed place.

"This behaviour is unworthy of Hogwarts students!" She shouted. "Mr. Weasleys, I am pleasantly surprised to see that you did not take part in this ... mess. It seems that Mr. Potter has a good influence on you, which I can only rejoice. No restraint, you others, but it's only because it's Christmas Day. I can only advise you to stop behaving like animals. "

With these words, she gazed at them before returning to the professors' table.

"It was awesome Harry!"

The two twins congratulated themselves on their well-played trick. Harry glanced up at the teacher's table. McGonagall was arguing with Professor Sprout. Snape had his enormous nose plunged into his plate, his lips plucked to form a thin line.

But the look of the boy stopped on Quirell. The poor man looked even paler than usual. Even from where he was, Harry could see him tremble, his eyes in the vague. Of course, no one around him noticed, who would pay attention to Quirell?

The dishes finally disappeared from the table to make room for the deserts. It was Harry's favourite part. Since the boy had discovered the sweets, he could not do without them, even though he had to be very careful about quantities, since his body was not used to it.

He took a piece of chocolate cake with a lively and precise gesture, cut it out slowly, took a bite. He savoured.

"Well Harry, it looks like you're eating the food of the gods!" Exclaimed Percy.

"Harry finished his bite before answering." Yes, I discovered chocolate two weeks ago, and I must say that I'm still not used to taste. "

"Wait, you discovered chocolate two weeks ago? You lived where, in a cave?"

"No, just among muggles."

He could not finish his dessert, feeling bad at the end of a few mouthfuls.

Harry no longer felt the strength to make the conversation. To tell the truth, he felt more and more weak. The world around him was cottony. He was feverish. He felt his magic trying to heal him, but the disease went faster. As soon as the desserts disappeared, he said good night quickly before rushing discreetly towards the dungeons. Arriving in front of the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, he could not remember the password. It was an animal ... something related to the school ...

The words blended in his head, constantly threatening to plunge into the darkness. Salazar looked at him, his imperturbable steel eyes judging the child falling in front of him.

"Dragon ..." he whispered.

The panel opened.

Harry collapsed to the inside more than he entered.

 **"Speaker! Speaker, what happened to you?"** Harry did not reply to the snake that was slipping around him, whispering uneasily.

He put his hand on his forehead.

He was burning.

 _Ice._ The voice said.

Without bothering to answer, Harry obeyed. He managed to crawl to the bathroom. He squirmed on the floor until he pulled out his clothes before slipping under one of the showers. His magic, now out of control, slid around him, dislodging the tiles from the walls, squeaking the metal pipes, scattering the bottles that had remained there.

His bones bumped against the tiled floor, sending shocks of pain to each movement.

With a kick, he managed to light the water that cascaded down his chest. He pointed his wand towards the water that was staying on the floor.

 _"Frigidaqua!_ "

The world turned black around him as he heard the ice crystals freezing the water around his shaking body.

* * *

Damien had a personality quite different from his brother's. From the outside, one could say that they were alike: they both loved fine things, drowned themselves in books more often than they should, both had a calm and gentle exterior, giving people the impression of being able to easily become their friend.

Yet they were very, very different. Harry was like a summer storm. That moment when everything was calm, motionless, where nature, the world held its breath. That moment when the very smell of the air changed, or everything could feel the heaviness of the glare that comes. The moment when the breeze was felt, the air was refreshed, and the arms were raised to the heavens of relief in the terrible wrath which fell before the brute force which fell suddenly, implacable, so much so that it seemed that this monstrosity, this violence was natural, that it must take place. And they rejoiced in the rain until they were sick, and they danced under the lightning until they were struck by lightning. And then everything returned to that calm warm, gentle, reassuring. Yet the storm was never far away.

Damien was not like that. He was not cruel. He was not detached. Damien was the one who danced in the rain knowing that another would always be touched, that the storm would spare him. He was angry.

Harry was hunting, he was setting traps. Nobody could escape him. Damien could not control himself enough for that. Because sometimes when a branch is sick, it must be cut.

The boy was aware of having cracked when he saw this woman, that infamous muggle, that decoyed animal touching Mia. This woman did not deserve to live. None of them deserved it. Gods, he hated them. He hated them so much that it hurt.

He had not really been afraid of dying. Not since he'd met Harry's gaze. People did not realize it, but he knew it: looking at Harry was looking at death in the face. Harry was all that happened before death, but that inexorably led to this destruction. If Harry looked so beautiful, so fascinating, so familiar, so powerful and yet so reassuring, so terrifying that we did not know if we had to run (it was useless) or throw himself at him (but what a terrible, terrible Fate!) it was that this child had death in his eyes. He was the future, that terrible future everybody feared while running to it.

But Damien had seen him kill. He knew. When Damien was a pit of emotions, Harry had no remorse.

Damien was afraid of being dead. Damien was afraid of death when his magic had first manifested itself. His father had tried to drown him, but he could not make up his mind to go all the way. Coughing, vomiting, fighting for a simple gulp of air, Damien had looked at him, without understanding.

Then he had started again. And his father had told him: if you use magic, you do not deserve to live. Child of the demon, like the others. You should not be born (but then why was he alive?).

Then, Damien had associated these two ideas: magic equal death. Death equals magic.

One day, another child had beaten him. Damien thought he was dying, his little body sending him distress signals, and he had used it. He had wounded the child to the eye. His father had come to fetch him from school. Throughout the return journey, he had said nothing. The child would have liked him to shout, to hit. The silence was terrifying, so terrifying that there were tears in his eyes and that his hand were twisting on his knees.

Her father had told him to sit on a chair in their kitchen. Damien had obeyed, trembling. His father's voice had become loving, reassuring. He had left for a moment, then returned to the kitchen. He had a kind of long knife in a basin, white sashes, bandages.

Damien had a hard time swallowing.

"You hurt someone, Damien. I wish I had not gotten there, but I have no choice."

"Please, papa, stop."

"You must understand that I love you, my son, I love you despite what you are, but I have to do it for your good, for the good of all."

The child had not protested when ties had immobilized his wrists and his chairs in the chair. It was not possible, it did not happen, it was a dream. Later, he would hate himself for his passivity.

"You wounded someone with a weapon against which he could not defend himself, it's monstrous Damien. Magic is monstrous."

As he spoke he had put water in the basin and had it boiled. The noise was unbearable, the heat stifled the child.

"No no..."

His voice had broken, to make room for silence. There was nothing more to say. It was useless. It is useless to fight, to struggle, to try to live.

His father had put the blade in boiling water to sterilize it. Then, reflecting, he had changed his mind.

He had removed the basin of water and had heated the blade directly to the fire.

Then, Damien had screamed for a few seconds. The blade had entered his skin somewhere in the back of his skull. Then he had fainted, and when he had returned to consciousness, he could no longer open his right eye.

When he came back, he could not remember the word 'magic'.

Damien hated his father because he knew he still loved him. Even after everything, he had this weakness.

After learning that, despite everything, he would die, Damien had tried to use his powers. But it was useless. Each time, an object flew a few centimetres from the table. And then he felt the blade, and he felt nothing. Just a flood of emotions, anger, fear, no, I do not want to die, it's wrong, no, no stop, and then hate, hate to send each of these animals that had him condemned for having had the misfortune to want to live, to die will die will die like the dogs you are, and then when he opened the only eye that remained to him, there were things snoring around him, bad, destructive things, things that wanted to attack, that gnawed him. And every time, he felt a little more fear in him, and a little more emptiness. It was eating him inside.

He had managed to use his magic a little, though, when he was with Harry. But it was easier not to be afraid of death when she watched you do it with tenderness.

When Harry left, Damien had cried a lot. He felt lost, panicked. He wanted to shout that it was not possible. He hadn't shown it to his brother. Harry had already too much pain in him.

But it was useless.

Then he had done what he had always done and would do until his last breath: he had helped his brother. With the help of Mia (that adorable little girl!), he had set to work. He wanted to help every child like him.

In addition to writing to Harry to respond to his requests, he was preparing a surprise for him. He had collected all the notes he had written when his brother went into one of his great monologues, his hair dishevelled, his eyes in the waves, his hands flying in the air like birds of prey. He was the only one who could see him like that, and he was proud of it.

Damien had taken his notes, and he had opened the law's books. He had studied the history of Muggles. He had written everything he could.

He was working to destroy them.

And when he was pruning his plants, the daylight fell on his face through the glass panes, he thought of destroying them. And when he took tea, telling jokes to little Mia, he thought of destroying them. And when he was showering, contemplating his dying body in the mirror, he passed a finger along his scar, feeling the burnt flesh, he was thinking of destroying them.

Damien was no longer afraid of dying. For to die was to be able to touch with the tip of the finger what Harry was.

He did not feel that he was obscuring himself by this duality, by the poison of agony. Because when you're agonized, you're still alive.

And deep down, he really, really wanted to be still alive.

Damien sat on his armchair, which he had moved before the bay window, nursing a cup of coffee. Mia had spent the night at the manor again. As much as he loved to see her, he knew it was not good. The more time she spent here, the more bad things there were. But at least she had a refuge.

He sighed. He would have liked Harry to come back for the holidays, but in the end he had his reasons.

Something deep inside him told him that Voldemort was the main reason. And this same thing caused jealousy to burn in his throat.

Despite the crackling fire, he shivered and curled a little more in the pled he had laid around his shoulders.

Tac tac tac.

The boy stood up to open the window. He withdrew the letter from Onyx's paw, gently caressed its feathers to thank it.

He unfolded the parchment. Harry's writing was more pressing than usual, and he could feel the excitement in his words. Immediately, Damien put his coffee on the small table in the living room and left in the library. Obviously, he had classified the newspapers. But the Daily Prophet, as its name indicated, was dail.

The boy sat down on one of the chairs, dropping a pile of books that were there before him without taking heed. An elf appeared, obeyed the books scattered with caution, then disappeared without touching anything. The elves of the Potter mansion had learned never to touch Master Damien's books.

The boy's eyes were moving at incredible speed from one line to another, from page to page. Damien was not a genius, he just had something with the words. They were imprinted in him like a step in the snow. It was another difference between he and Harry: his brother liked things, Damien liked words. He could see the actual beauty of them, he didn't only used them to learn information. His power would never be in his magic, in his person. His power was in his quill.

* * *

Cold.

Harry was cold. All his limbs trembled.

He opened his eyes.

Sure enough, he was surrounded by glace. This explains that.

He blinked several times to return to reality. Obviously, Snape had been right. He did not regret anything. Almost.

 _"Finite Incantatem."_

The ice that had become crystallized all around him suddenly turned into water, surprising a little the child who swallowed some of it by accident.

He coughed a little, and put his hand on his forehead. The fever had fallen. He had always recovered quickly. The bathroom, however, was in a dirty condition.

 **"Speaker! Speaker was frozen!"**

 **"Do not worry, little snake, that's how humans sometimes take care of themselves."**

 **"Ananta is going to eat what hurts Speaker!"**

 **"It will not be necessary..."** He said in a laugh, stroking his head.

 **"You always say that ...** " she sulked.

He wrapped himself up in a towel and went looking for clean clothes. Once properly dressed, wearing a headdress (as much as possible), he rolled himself in a blanket and returned to the common room, determined to continue his research. He was still a little weak, but he had seen worse. Something in the corner of his eye stopped him.

There were things stuffed under the tree of the common room. He wondered at first if other students had forgotten about the stuff they packed up for the trip, but no, he was certain he had not seen them the previous days.

He approached and returned a label, to know the owner.

His name was marked on it. He frowned.

Of course, he was no stranger to the concept of present, but he had never heard of bundled gifts and left there that way. Why let them under a damn tree? Whatever, it had to be part of those Christmas traditions. He understood that people were supposed to offer things to people, but since he was not sure who and how to proceed, he had decided to abstain this year. Obviously, others did not deprive themselves of it.

He felt excitement rising in him and a smile appeared on his lips.

He first opened a rectangular package. He recognized Draco's handwriting on the card. A box of chocolates. The boy had taste, they had to cost a lot of money. Obviously, Draco wanted to be the one who would pay him the most expensive gift, to be in his good graces.

Harry wondered for a moment whether he should buy a gift and claim that he had only arrived late, but decided that it was useless. He would write a card to thank Draco, just so as not to be rude.

Harry put the box to the side (Eating chocolate now was not a very good idea), and went on to the next gift.

His other Slytherin comrades had offered him high-quality school materials (the enchanted quill Daphne had found him gave him a little cries of pleasure, even if he would deny it firmly if asked).

He had not expected to receive anything else, but there was a bundle, a little behind the others. Harry took him with curiosity. A small card was on top.

 _"Make good use of it."_

The boy frowned, first at the paternalistic tone, then at the implicit order, and at last because he did not recognize this writing - which was clearly not that of a pupil. For a moment, he thought of Quirell, but no, the man had a fine, disorganized and hardly legible handwriting. Snape wrote in script, his letters straight with just the number of traits needed and without amenities. This handwriting was leaning, beautiful, full of pompous curls drawn by someone who mastered them perfectly.

Harry carefully opened the gift, being careful not to touch what was inside. It was obviously a coat. A soft fabric, of a strange purple dotted with stars and moons.

He seemed to know this thing.

Harry should have taken more precautions, he had enough enemies to justify his paranoia, but he could not help but take the fabric and unfold it.

A Cape. It was a cape, about twice as big as him. Immediately, Harry dropped the blanket around him and put the cloak over his shoulder. He felt an energy, something that gave him the need to touch the cape. Sparks of electricity flowing on his skin, on the silk...

...

 _Two people dance in front of me. There was no music. The lamps gently lit the room. The woman laughed softly. But laughter was false. I sat on the floor, a small black dog-shaped cuddly toy, shouting for attention._

 _He was in the street. He had no choice. These idiots. Trust, what a trap so easy to tend ..._

 _I feel something is wrong. I'm crying. The anguish presses my chest. The woman - mother – detached herself from the man's arms and come towards me, stretching out her arms to grad me. "Oh, my little treasure, what is it? Come on, let's go ..." She sways me a little against her chest. Her smell reassures me. But I keep crying, clenching my little fists in her orange hair._

 _"Nice costume, sir!" He looks down at the child. He could kill him and his mother. But it's useless. "Thank you." He murmured before passing his way. The child turns around and continues to gaze at him. He watches them through the window from the garden. He sees Potter throwing his wand on the sofa before calming the baby, rigged against his mother. He smiles. There is always something electric in those moments, before the blood._

 _"So, little man, what's going on?" Asks the man - father - passing my hand through my hair. I do not cry anymore. It's here. I babble under the caress. The door explodes. "Lily, it's him! take Harry, I'll hold him!"_

 _He hears them scream. He sighs. They always shout. He goes on. Potter throws himself before him. He wants to laugh, the boy - it's not even really a man - left his wand on the couch, now behind his enemy. Stupid kid. Then Potter darted at him and tried to hit him with his hands. For a moment, Voldemort admires his courage. But that will not change at the end, and he raises his wand. "Avada Kedavra."_

 _I hear words, cries, and something fall on the ground a little further. She closes the door, and looks everywhere, panicked. She is stuck, she has no means, no time to flee. She's crying. She grabs a cloak - the cape and wraps me in it. I feel warm and safe in it. "Hush, baby, hush. Do not make noise, now, okay?" I am silent._

 _The girl closed the door. She seems to think that this piece of wood will stop him. He has a bitter laugh. The adrenaline comes to rise in him, he wants blood. But he promised: he will kill it only if he is obliged to do so. He still needs Severus, and he needs him faithful. He explodes the door, he no longer has the patience to open the locks. And then after all, it gives effect to the scene._

 _A tall, black silhouette moves forward, and Mama steps back. Then she stops, sits up, bombs the torque. She looks at him. She's terrified._

 _Oh, he sees what attracts Severus. The girl is really pretty, with this burst of defiance in her eyes dilated by fear. He always loved fear in their eyes. It has been a long time that he did not take care of this kind of task himself, outside the mans of the manor. There is nothing fun to kill a broken body. But he promised._

 _"Push you, girl. Your death brings me nothing." Mom stays upright, motionless. He repeats his sentence once, twice. Then unknown, heavy and sharp words slide down his tongue and a green ray emerges from his wand. It touches her right in the heart. She falls to the ground. I look at the thing, surprised. Then he does something. Something._

 _Blank_

 _Blank_

 _Where is the child? She could not send him elsewhere, he still feels his energy. This little thing is powerful, but it will not save it. Then Voldemort's gaze stops on the bed. There is nothing, but a small mark on the mattress indicates that there is something there. "You had a brain, with that!" He said to the corpse. The silence answered him: not enough._

 _He approaches his white hand and emaciated from me, and removes the blanket that surrounds me. I look at him curiously. Then I look at Mom. "Mama asleep?"_

 _The baby does not scream. He looks at him without fear in his great green eyes. It is beautiful, like a porcelain doll. Voldemort always loved beautiful things. "Mama asleep?" Asks the baby, bringing him out of his thoughts. The child looks at him with all the innocence of the world in his eyes. He should not be able to speak, but magical children are often early on this stuff, Voldemort knows it better than anyone else. But those eyes, those eyes remind him of someone else's. They do not have the same colour, not the same shape, not even the same intensity. But there is something in his pupils, which reminds him of it. "No, little, she's not asleep." He himself would not have thought himself capable of speaking with so much gentleness, genuine sweetness._

 _I look at the man without understanding. His red eyes are not detached from me. Why does not mom get up if she does not sleep? Why is there red on her green shirt? He takes the baby in his arms, sits on a chair that trains there and places it on his lap. The baby starts to play with the tails. He's going to kill a magical child tonight. He had promised himslef never to do so. One moment, he wonders how it fell so low. He pinched his lips. There is no one to tell the story here. So, for the first time in his life, he let himself go. The eyes of the woman stare him, glassy, wide open._

 _The man looks sad, so I do not like when daddy is sad. I tapped my nose with my hand. The man smiles at me, but his eyes don't. They are still this sad-red colour. There is red on his face too, and it feels strange on my hands. When I touch the red on his moute, ther is red on my hands._

 _He does not know how far it will go. He knows that he must live, is not that why he is there, to live? This child is a threat, and any menace must be eliminated. Lord Voldemort has no enemies: there are those who do what he says, and those whom he had taken care of. So why is it so hard to look that child in the eye and say the words? He killed children, muggles. He sent his henchmen to massacre wizarding children, when their family had challenged him. He liked- no he loved killing the boy's parents. So why is it so hard to look him in the eye and pronounce the words, those words he said so many times that they became a habit for him, those words that long ago made him shiver and which were now only one more task to be accomplished? It's not in him that's the problem. He is perfect, he has always done everything to be perfect. No, it is in the child, in that brightness in the depths of his eyes that he has already seen somewhere._

 _I stand there staring at those red eyes that seem lost in the void. And then he starts singing something. Something that stays in my head, so I sing it too. And then he tapped my head, as if he did not know how to act. "Sorry." He said, but he did not think so._

 _He can't look at him. It makes him angry. It is a feeling, feelings are things for the weak, for those who betray themselves without reacting, for mortals, for humans. It is unworthy of him. He's the Dark Lord, he's worth so much more than this little thing - this beautiful, perfect little thing - he just laid on the floor. Then he rewinds him in the cloak of invisibility, leaving only the top of his skull, to have something to aim. He hears a muffled laugh under the blanket. No, he's the Dark Lord, he does not feel that kind of stuff for those who are useless, those who are going to die. It's pitiful._

 _Then the first syllable rolls on his tongue full of blood and he is the most powerful man in the world, he is eternal, and when he has finished what he has to do here, he will have defeated Dumbledore's last hopes, he will finally have paid for it, he will have destroyed everything he held dear._

 _When the second syllable passes his deformed lips by dint of death, he thinks, finally, he is immortal again, and no one will ever threaten him, never, never._

 _When the third syllable bangs against his teeth, he remembers where he saw this gleam in the depths of the child's eyes. It was a long time ago, in an orphanage that he destroyed years ago, alone, people he played long ago playing in the courtyard outside._

 _When the fourth syllable resounds in the air, a green, familiar, frightening light begins to radiate into the small room. And Tom, he's Tom in front of this child, yes Tom wonders where all this will stop. Then he remembers that everything stops this evening, because this child is the last thing that still hangs on him to this horrible black hole, that void, that nothingness on which we put the simple word of death._

 _When the fifth syllable flows along his body to the end of his wand, he thinks that today, nothing will ever again insinuate fear in him. Today, by killing this little child, this beautiful baby, he abandons for ever what made him a human, which kept him from those filths that dare to call his friends, his servants, his enemies, who are nothing but insects under his feet, now and for ever, he his Lord Voldemort, and not even that damn prophecy, not even the fate can stop him._

 _When the sixth syllable triggers the spell, makes the stars resonate, invokes what he fears the most in the world, Tom is alone, and he looks at the green ray pointing to the child that resembles him so much._

 _I see the green ray coming towards me through the cape. It envelops me, surrounds me, like the arms of my mother. And then I see a veil. Something stand behind me, something immense, terrible. I hear someone screaming, a cry that gets in my forehead, which hurts me, and I have the impression to fall, to ..._

to...

The cape slipped from his shoulders gently and fell to the ground. He followed it, falling to his knees, releasing a breath that he had not realized he was holding back. Blood drops flowed from his scar along his cheek, beaded on his chin, and fell on the ground.

He finally did not sit down, clutching his legs in his arms, his head on his knees.

That cloak had saved his life. He remained there for a long time, the words he had heard resonating in his skull. He did not know why he had the feelings of Voldemort in his memory, and it bothered him. It was as if something had not been remembered, something that was not him. Taking up his mind, he took a parchment, a pen, and noted everything he remembered.

He had always had the impression that his victory over Voldemort did not come from him. His recollection of that of the Dark Lord was simply asking him new questions. Every word, every expression, could matter.

And that cape ... what was it actually? A cape of invisibility, certainly, but invisibility capes did not save people from psychotic Dark Lords, as far as he knew. Ironically, the only other person in his case was Dumbledore, and he couldn't really go into the headmaster's office and ask "Hey! Sorry, but I've discovered thanks to a mini Voldemort in my head that this cape saved me! Did you had a cape too when you stopped Grindelwald? Just asking..."

But this memory had another effect on him: Voldemort had not tried to kill him to eliminate the whole family, as he had believed until then. He was the target, he had come for him. His parents had died for him.

He did not know how he felt about it.

Ananta slipped on his shoulders.

 **"What's going on, master?"**

 **"Nothing, nothing. I remembered something very important, and now I have to note it so I do not forget anything."**

 **"Humans are weird ..."** murmured the snake before putting his head on the boy's shoulder and closing his eyes, reassured.

He finished writing all the memory before arranging his clothes and washing his face. He was wearing one of the pants he had bought at the beginning of the year, a white shirt, a Slytherin coat of arms and his eternal scarf. He looked at himself in the mirror. He had always been pale, but now he could give the snow outside a good run. He tugged his hair so that it did not fall into his eyes, folded the cape and slipped it into his bag with the parcel and the things he never left and left the common room.

He went up to the seventh floor, greeting the paintings as they passed. Once in the room, he hid the parchment behind a stone from the wall. He bewitched the stone in the same way he did with the dormitory shelves, then went into the dueling room.

It really, really needs to unwind. He threw out fate after the other, more and more aggressive. After a moment, unable to stand, he threw his wand and threw himself on the mannequin. As his father had done. But he could strike. He would conceive his magic in his fists unconsciously, leaving the knot of emotions that had formed out of him.

When he had finished, the mannequins were nothing but wood chips, and his hands were in blood. He banged them quickly before going out for the meal.

He sat at the end of the table, in front of a Ravenclaw, avoiding the Weasleys. He really did not want to fight Ron today. In fact, he had a little too much desire to fight Ron today.

"We did not see you at breakfast." Harry looked up at Snape's black silhouette overhanging him.

"I was not hungry, sir."

Snape raised a single eyebrow. "You better eat now, if you do not want to faint."

Harry was getting pissed off.

"For your guidance, I can hold about two weeks with a bowl of water, Professor. And I will not be there if I did not intend to eat."

Snape was surprised by this lack of manners. The boy was so polite, usually.

"Well, now that Mr. Potter has been able to tell us how strong and tough he is, he may be eating, unless three meals a day are not worthy of you?" He said sharply.

"I do not see how my health concerns you." Harry said staring at him.

"You see very well how it concerns me, Potter."

Without even waiting for an answer, Snape left for the professor's table. There was only one thought in his mind: even if today he had Voldemort's favour, if the man had wanted to kill him once, if he had done all this to kill him ... He could do it again.

It was in this state of mind that he received Damien's letter a little later that day.

 _Harry,_

 _Everything is fine here, as usual. The village is quiet, but the muggles are numerous. Gladis tells me to tell you to eat, sleep, and stop putting yourself in danger in any way. Mia greets you._

 _Now, the important things. I did the research you asked for. Indeed, in July, the house of Nicholas Flamel undergoes an aggression. There was no mention of burglary since nothing was stolen. However, the French Aurors were dispatched on the spot, since Flamel's magical walls are supposed to be among the most powerful in the world._

 _I also noticed that a few days after you went to the bank, a Hogwarts chest was also burgled - the authorities obviously did not make the connection between the two cases. Despite the surprise of the fact that someone managed to enter Gringotts, the case soon was choked because the chest was - you guessed it – empty._

 _Now I do not know exactly what you are looking for but it is obvious that someone is desperately trying to steal something that is protected by the world's greatest alchemist as well as by Dumbledore._

 _So, I advise you to be careful, Harry._

 _Don't go into trouble if it isn't worth it._

 _Damien._

Damien had found the right word: desperate. Desperate to find a body again. Desperate enough to seek the help of a child. He knew Quirell was too weak to really help him. That was why he was training him in such a way.

Harry felt insulted.

Voldemort wasn't better than Dumbledore. When the headmaster looked at him, he saw the perfect little boy, a child, innocent. When Voldemort looked at him, he saw one of his Death Eater, someone who will obey, who will bow. But Harry never bowed. It also meant that Dumbledore knew that Voldemort was prowling around the walls, if Damien and Harry had made the connection, someone as intelligent as Dumbledore was already aware, especially since he had all the information. There were only two solutions: where he really wanted to hide the stone, thinking that the school was safer than Gringotts (probably for the simple reason that he was there himself), or then he had set a trap for Voldemort.

Obviously, he knew it was Voldemort, not any Dark Wizard. This person had entered two of the best-kept places in the world, who else could do such tricks?

Harry could not help admiring Dark Lord's panache, continuing to chase the stone under Dumbledore's nose, without even having a body.

Harry promised himself one thing: he would show them. He would make sure to be their equal, so that they never can look higher, so that they never see it more as a tool.

He was going to become powerful. He was going to prove that he was worth the same as them, if not more. He was going to have to play very finely, but one thing was certain: neither would have what they wanted.

Because if Harry had inherited a Gryffindor trait, it was his stubbornness.


	18. Interlude

Hy! No, this isn't a new chapter, sorry!

I wanted to give you guys news and to answer reviews.

Reviews first! Leo Dray Thanatos : I'm sorry for the holiday's mistake! I should have check that, I only assumed it was like in my country, with four big holidays: October, Christmas, Easter and Summer. Well, I'll manage to find an explanation for that in the story and nobody will notice (maybe- I hope so). For the timeline, I don't really understand your point, I think mine is quite good. I don't see where I made a mistake on that precise idea. Te story start at the summer of Harry's tenth birthday, and now we are around Christmas... If you have more precise complain, please explain I'll be very happy to hear it!

PriyanshPotter: Yes, there will be slash, femslash ans heterosexuals relationships in this fic. I'm not going to give the parings because they matte rin the plot. There will no be sex scenes in the fic, only in the non-censured version I will post soon on AO3. My parings are part of the story, a story of crimes, manipulations and war. But I don't quite understand your point: you can relate to a kid that actually killed his family, but you cannot if he's gay, bi or else? Anyway, that's all I can answer without spoiling, sorry. Thank you for your interest, tho!

On that point, I wanted to precise things: this story, as it is written on the first chapter, will include dark themes. I will precise: there will be notions of violence, child abuse, torture (obviously), manipulation, unhealthy relationships, traumas, war, slavery, and a lot of others things. I'll always put a warning at the beginning of the chapter, but I thought I could give ... details! :) I will be more and more violent as Harry will grow up, obviously. No too crude or sex scenes here, all that will be on AO3 I think (I don't want to have trouble, I don't really know at what point things are censored on this site). Also: a lot of things will be on longburn, so please don't be too impatient ^^

Now: === I have a Beta!A big thank you to Zarathustra46 for the hard work. I am actually correcting all my previous chapter to make them as flawless as I can, and a deeply apologize for every mistakes you had to read. It's quite hard to correct me as I work very quickly and my friends are so used to my mis-spells that they just don't see them anymore :/ So, don't worry, in a week or so it will be aaaaaaall corrected. I must say that I publish long after I wrote my chapter, I'm currently writing the 21th, just for you to imagine haha.

Some of you may be french (like me) so I wanted to point out that I'm translating this fic in french if you want to go and check! I will also star to write one shots, or shorter fanfics if you want to check them!

I still want to thanks all of you for the support, for indulging my mistakes (it's my first fic, yay!), all the favs and follow! It really helps me to think that people may enjoy what I'm writing.

Don't hesitate to comment/ review, and stay awesome, people!

~LadyBraken.


	19. Chapter 17

Hy! I know, I know, it's been a long time. So, my beta already corrected the first tree chapters, and I didn't knew if I should publish some un-betaed ones because it's going to take a while before she catch up everything. This one is un-beated, just tell what do you want: for me to wait before publishing the next one, or to publish with further correction?

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it! A big thanks to all the favs, and follows! I'm now on AO3 under the same penname if you want to check it out!

To the person that asked: AO3 is an other fanfic- platform, but with less restriction in the content, which mean that I will not have to retrained myself in some scenes I may write! (et merci pour le compliment :) )

So, that's all I think. Don't forget to review, I like to know what you think, as long as it is constructive!

Ps: I need a beta for some other fanfic I want to write, so if anyone want to, please contact me!

~LadyBraken

* * *

 **Warning: Violence,** **harassment**

 **Chapter 17:**

Harry had now a cape of invisibility, and he had the intention to use it at its maximum. He was surprised that he hadn't break into the restricted section before, but now that he could do it without risking being punished or expelled, he wasn't going to just ignore all of this knowledge lying before him, waiting for him to put his nose between the pages.

His snake around his neck, his wand in his hand, is bag on his shoulder and the cape on his head, he slipped into the library, silent and invisible. The moonlight was slightly lightning the room, giving the books a blue shade. Everything was silent.

On tiptoe, he approached the metallic door of the restricted section. It was like it was made to giving student the desire to go inside, letting them have a glimpse of what was forbidden trough the holes of the metallic fence.

 _"Alohomora."_

The lock wasn't even protected with a spell, really, it was too easy.

Harry stopped. Yes, it was far too easy. Half of the dark wizards of the last war were raised into this castle, if not more, this type of things should be more protected, if not actually out of the school. Meaning that the protection was probably insidious.

But he felt no magic on the fence, the door or even the walls, well, no magic that wasn't the castle's... And the castle liked Harry. The boy put his hand on one of the walls.

"Hide me..." he whispered.

And he pushed the door, which opened with a loud creak. Praying that Flich would be elsewhere, he entered the room. He didn't felt any magic or any ward. He sighed. The restricted section was probably even bigger than the actual library, and he didn't have any clue of where to start.

Harry felt the thrill of the forbidden and the crime accomplished in front of all these shelves of black books before him. He needed to organise. He wandered among the shelves, memorizing the place of some books he might need later, letting his finger brush against their leather cover. He passed the section about wild magical creatures and when deeper and deeper into the library. He finally found what he was looking for.

The Dark Arts.

He was very conscious that every student a bit more curious or intelligent that the others would have be here before him, since centuries, but he couldn't help to feel that he was discovering something new, alone.

First things first, he needed to know what were the Dark Arts, meaning why this particular magic had been separated and cast out from the others. The only person he knew using it currently was Voldemort, even if all death Eaters must have practiced it, and for what he could see it did pretty bad things to one's body. And Harry didn't see the point of being all mighty and powerful if you had to be afraid of your own face in the mirror, and feel pain every time you use magic.

He took the book "Dark and Light Magic, or how to detect forbidden spells" by Lord Croupton and opened it under the cape. He had check that his Lumos couldn't be seen through it, so he crouched in a corner and started reading. But the position was absolutely incomfortable, and he finally sat on the chair, and started copying the book's important information thanks to the enchanted quill Daphne had got him for Christmas.

Mr Croupton was an Auror, so Harry didn't expect his book to be in favour of the Dark Arts, and he was right. It was a book by Aurors, for Aurors and with the prospect of comforting them in their views. But it was interesting as Harry needed to know how they worked to be able to -maybe avoid Azkaban while still being... himself.

 _"As you must have learnt in your formation, every spell leave a mark. The ministry had four ways to detect an unusual use of magic. The first one, and most obvious, are witnesses. There are wizards in many town along the country, and most of them would be willing to help Aurors by fear of being attacked, by muggles or other wizards, if not to avoid prison and trouble. Most of the magical incidents are being reported to the ministry by civilians..."_

Harry noted: never leave witnesses.

 _"The second one, is the mark of underage magic. This spell is put on every student during the sorting ceremony, and activate itself when the student is out of magical wards. It had been decided to do it at this moment to catch purebloods along with muggle-borns, and to avoid Aurors to move for some accidental magic of the young children. After the sorting, every student can be traced if using spells by the ministry thanks to the Book, that you can consult in the department of mysteries..."_

Finally, he had found it. So, the mark was left on the children by the hat – it was the only thing that touched every student during the ceremony. Meaning that he would have to find a way to destroy that mark, or he would be bound for seven years.

 _"The third is the wand itself: every wand sold legally is registered at the ministry, and therefore its trace can be identified. It is to be noted that the identification is a very hard and long process, and can be done only if there is remaining of the magic used (objects transformed, living being), and if the seller is known."_

No really, it was very interesting to read all that. It was giving him hints to commit the perfect crime.

 _"And finally, most of the spell used by Dark Wizards leave special marks that can be identified. Once you know the spell, you have clues against the people, for most of them know only a dozen of Dark spells and use only three of them – the Unforgivables."_

Harry passed a few pages to search for something about that last trace. He could kill or obliviate – or avoid- witnesses, he could do something in the ministry for the mark of underage magic, or at least he knew what it was about, he could pay a visit to Ollivander if necessary, or find another wand, even if he loved this one, but a trace left by magic itself was something much more important.

The boy knew magic left traces. He could feel Voldemort's aura in Quirell, he could feel the magic running in the castle's walls, for example. But what Croupton was saying was that Dark Magic had a different feeling, a different taste, meaning that it was a different nature of magic. And that this difference could be detected if wanted.

Harry sat many hours reading under the cape. After he had finished the book, he had taken another, and another. His notebook was black of his handwriting.

He cast a Tempus. It was about two in the morning, he still had a lot of time. The problem was that half of the books were charmed if not cursed, probably the most dangerous ones, therefore the more interesting's.

Footsteps.

Harry stiffen, holding his breath. In a quick and fluid movement, he put the book back in its place, his note book in his bag and grabbed his wand, ready to curse and run if necessary. He heard the cat before he saw it. And when the cat was around Flinch wasn't far away.

The theory came to practice as before the boy could leave, the old man appeared in front of him, blocking the only way out. He was obviously looking for someone. Harry had let the door open. How stupid. Now he was stuck.

Filch could go forward and Harry couldn't avoid him, or he could go back and lock him up, probably staying close to the gate as he usually did when he detected a student out of his bed, forcing him to surrender.

He thought for a moment of the possibility of killing him, of hurting him. He gives him a lesson which he would not forget. But what had the poor man done, if not his work? He remained for a moment watching the frantic movements of his black eyes, half hidden under bushy eyebrows. He had no rights over this man.

One day, maybe. Harry had to be smart, he had the advantage of being invisible. And he didn't want to hurt the man, not in a way that could alarm Dumbledore in any way. Ananta was feeling the danger and had risen her head. Harry had an idea.

Dumbledore had no idea he could control snakes, but he surely heard about this abilities for Voldemort... Time to see if the old man knew what he was doing.

 **"Ananta, you can go on the floor. Threaten the man, don't bite him, though. You can kill the cat, but only in absolute necessity. He must not see me, so I'm going to pass him while you distract him. Once I'm behind, come back to me as quickly as possible."**

"Is someone there? I know you're in there!"

 **"I didn't want to bite him anyway. He looks sick. Ananta don't eat rotten meat."**

Harry almost laughed out loud at that, mostly because it was true, he wouldn't touch that man with a stick if he had to.

Flinch raised his lantern as if light could lead him to the delinquent, but it only made him look even more ugly, if possible. He had heard whistles that were probably frightening, but he obviously did not know what the Parcel was, otherwise he would be running for his life.

 _"Finite Incantatem."_ He whispered.

Ananta slide under Harry's arms, growing as she did so. When she got out of the cape, she had her full size, which meant that when she stood, she was almost as tall a Flich. Her iridescent scales were shining under the lantern and the moonlight, looking like steel changing color at each movement. That snake was truly beautiful. And deadly.

Flich focused on the deadly part, if the scream he made was any indication. Ananta hissed aggressively at him, and Flinch fell on his back, trying to step back in panic. Harry took his chance and jumped over him. He ran to the other side of the door.

 **"Ananta!"** The snake turn reluctantly towards her master and went to hide under the cape, as he cast the spell to reduce her size again. He went into the relative safety of the corridor, wishing to go away as quickly as possible.

 **"So, did you eat the cat?"** he asked when he was sure to be alone, and far away from the library.

 **"C'mon, it looks as sane as its owner!"** Harry chuckled. He walked along the corridors for a bit, trying to figure out if he'd return to bed now or if he would go to the astronomy tower.

It was a beautiful night, after all, with no clouds to hide the stars. Or maybe go to the seventh floor, train to cast some spells and drink hot chocolate. He was deciding himself for the latest option when he heard voices not as far from him as he would wish.

Curious, but his wand in the hand, ready to cast a spell, he went closer. Nobody but Flinch was supposed to be out of bed tonight, and that man couldn't be in front of him as he had let him behind.

He almost gasped when he saw Snape manhandling the poor Quirell against the wall.

"Some may wonder were your loyalty lays..." whispered the potion professor in a dangerous tone.

"I- I don't know wh- what you're talking about, Severus..." Harry got closer. Not only it could serve his plans, but he could gather some information about the Stone.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Harry made a mental note to never be in Quirell's place. Right now, in the darkness, his eyes shining with some sort of cold furry, Snape was truly terrifying.

"Se- severus..."

"I know what you're up to, Quirell..."

As Harry got closer, not wanting to miss a single bit of a fight between the two, Snape stopped. He turned towards the place Where Harry was standing and looked at it suspiciously, before returning to Quirell. The boy frowned.

So, Snape had detected, if only for a second, his presence. He would have to work on his discretion. Especially as he reserved the cape to do a surprise to his dear DADA professor, later on.

"I'm watching you, Quirell..."

Harry didn't know if Snape knew who he was truly crashing against that wall, but he wished he didn't. And if Snape didn't know... it meant that, considering the option of Dumbledore's trap, the old man hadn't judged necessary to inform his spy of the eventual presence of his former master.

Meaning that he only trusted Snape in some extent, or that he was manipulating him for something. Or that he had a very good reason to hide the fact that old Voldy was still alive. He was interrupted in his contemplation by a panicked Flinch running towards the two professors.

"Sir! Sir!" He called. Snape gazed at him, obviously trying to make him vanished with his look, but the poor man was too afraid to notice. Quirell was obviously shaking, even if he tried to hide it the best he could.

"A student isn't in his bed!" Exclaimed the man, not bothering to explain further. Immediately, Snape and Quirell looked at each other and followed the panicked man to the library. Harry smile under is cape.

 **"We did well,"** he whispered to the snake who was curling against his skin. **"We did very well."**

He saw a door, leading to an unknown room and opened it. He was pretty sure that if one day he died stupidly, it would be out of his own curiosity.

The room was empty, without any other light that the rays of the pale moonlight on the floor of stone. The boy immediately felt a strange attraction for something inside the room. It was the same sensation he had in the ministry, but somewhat a bit different. In the ministry, it felt... sad. This one was more imposing, more aggressive. The thing at the ministry was calling, pleading, this one was ordering, like the difference with I wish and I want.

Harry took off his shoes. Barefoot, he could feel the magic flowing under him. He hid them behind a pillar, with his bag, guarded by Ananta. He didn't know what that type of magic could do to her, as she was feeding on his own magical core. He didn't want a snake tall as a building.

He kept the cape in his hand, to be able to run away if someone else entered the room.

There was a mirror. It has clawed feet and a gold frame inscribed with the phrase _"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi»_

Harry frowned. He had never seen such words or languages. He decided to walk to be in front of it, to be able to see himself. He had never quite like seeing his face in the mirror. He was a pretty child, he knew it mostly because he could read it on people's heads. He had a pale thin face, who promised to grow quite well, plain red lips, long black hair falling in some sort of messy waves around his face and making him look innocent and elegant. His eyes were mezmerising, even when he blocked the magic in order to make them look a bit more normal. He noticed that his scar had turned almost black, and was much more visible than it used to be. He pressed his fingers on it.

It was the last proof that he had died, the last mark of the child he could have been if the Dark Lord hadn't decided to kill him.

He was small, and underweight. Even the food of Hogwarts's kitchens couldn't help with that. He had taken the habit of considering food as a plus, not a necessity, and he often felt full after only one or two bites in his food. That was why he didn't much like to see himself: the others saw a pretty little boy, he saw the results and the marks of his past. He saw his weaknesses.

As he was alone, he disregarded his scarf on the floor.

The reflection changed. It was almost imperceptible at first, but Harry noticed it.

There were no scars on his neck. His eyes looked more normal. His lips didn't have that bitter frown he always had when he thought about himself. The blackish circles under his eyes were nowhere to be seen, and his lightning scar faded a bit, still remaining.

Then Damien appeared, walking behind him to come and stand beside him. He wore wizard robes, his unique eye sparkling like never before, with a wand in his hand.

Harry stepped back, turned, but Damien was not there. Yet when he looked into the mirror, the boy smiled at him. Then, in the same way Damien had appeared, Mia stood at their side. Her hair was plaited and she looked in front of her with her eternal air proud and challenging.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out what was going on.

Other children appeared. He recognized the faces of his comrades, and the faces he did not know. Everything stood straight to his side, with their wands in their hands. All looked before them as if the world belonged to them. Some wore wizard dresses, some wore muggy outfits. Then they raised their wands to heaven and sparks flew out, flying high and straight, claiming a world that was theirs.

Harry looked fascinatingly at Damien's face lit by the light of the spells that flew from his wand, his hair floating under the power of the incantations.

Harry was speechless. He sat down to watch the scene for hours. It was like a dream that materialized before him. After a moment, he forced himself to rise. Ananta began to groan and hungry. He hid under the cloak and looked at the mirror one last time.

He leaps back. He was no longer in the mirror. No, it was something else that stood in his place. Something that had no form, no matter, no face. A hole of infinite emptiness standing there, motionless, staring at him. Harry withdrew the cloak with a quick gesture, his heart pounding a hundred miles an hour. The vision returns, he and the others standing before him.

Harry put on the cloak again, covering himself completely. It was always there But the thing did not move. Then he recovered himself, and advanced slowly. It was like contemplating the ground from the edge of a chasm, fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

His heart was racing in his chest. He reached for the thing and the mirror moved where his fingers brushed against it, as if he had touched water.

He withdrew his hand, and the mirror became motionless again.

Without another look, Harry took his things, Ananta stuck against his neck, the cloak covering him and went back to the dormitory. He did not dream that night. Harry tried to resist the mirror's call.

He succeeded, during an afternoon, that he passed by looking out the window instead of working on his different projects. His mind was elsewhere. Now that he knew that an artefact of such power was in the castle, an artefact that reacted with his cape, which had saved his life, Harry could not help but think, think, want to see it again, to want to touch it.

Harry wanted to know.

So, when night came he slipped into the library in the restricted section and for nearly two hours he looked for everything he could on the mirror, the cape, anything that could help him understand. He found nothing. He had forgotten all prudence, opening the books in front of him, searching frantically for the light of his wand, his fingers running over the books, his mind recording everything he was reading.

He had not even taken the time to tie his hair, and his naked locks fell in disorder in front of his face. He had not taken the time to take his shoes either. After a moment, he no longer held it and returned before the mirror.

The artefact awaited him, intact, immutable ... Immortal.

Harry did not know why the word had come to his mind, but he felt it was right. He once again placed himself in front of the mirror and saw the scene unfold. He remained amazed at his dream come true. Oh, he knew it was not reality, but it was so satisfying. His will, his will alone dictated what existed in the mirror. Here he had the power.

Total power, absolute.

He shuddered. He did not know whether it was the apprehension of desire that he had felt in the depths of his heart, or the pleasure he felt in this distortion of reality.

Then he got up and put on the cape. It was there, again, staring, staring. Harry did not come near. He wanted to touch, but a kind of instinct held him in place, sitting on the floor one meter from the mirror. When the rays of the sun pierced through the window, he returned to his bed.

Lost in thought, he went to breakfast in the great hall. He was aware that Snape was watching him, and he preferred to avoid a confrontation, to concentrate on the mirror, the cape, the thing. He lowered his guard. He went downstairs to the common room to get Ananta - he still did not take her to the hall for security. "Hey half-blood!" Harry stopped.

He was alone.

He turned slowly, his wand in his hand.

He could not defend himself, first of all for fear of actually hurting one of the students, and then because he had no desire to suffer the consequences of a duel in the corridors.

There were five. Slytherin, sixth year. They didn't sleep in the Slytherin's dorms during the holidays, apparently preferring the Ravenclaw's tower, as far as Harry knew. Probably because one them had friends/ accomplices/ girl or boyfriend up there.

He had seen them come, but they really arrived at the worst moment. Whatever. He would have needed to calm them down at one time or another, anyway. Though he was not sure he could defeat five of them alone.

Three, maybe, but five, without using too aggressive spells, leaving no traces, without betraying himself, it was too much.

"Tell us, you half-blood, you think you're a kind of hero?"

"Oh Saint-Potter, The-Boy-WhoDoesn't-Fucking-Want-To-Die!" The other boys laughed at the words of the man who seemed to be their leader.

"I heard you saved the mudbloods now! But you did not save your mother Potter, your poor, poor Mudblood mother ... Nobody care about them, you know..." He took a sad false look, making a face. The other boys laughed at it. Harry did not react.

"You think you're better than us, Potter, with all your good notes, all your glory, you think you're our equal?" He said, disdain tripping of his mouth.

"Oh, look like he's staring at you, Dan! He's not happy, little Potter!" A second boy looked at him, a wicked smile on his face.

"Oh yes, he thinks he's strong, he thinks he can live in our dormitories without paying his respects! They surrounded him now. Harry had straightened, his wand in his hand, not chucking their heads not letting the leader out of his Sight.

"Stop staring at me, dog!"

"Or else?" His voice was joyous, very joyous. It had the intonations of Dumbledore's in his speeches, but the promises were much darker.

He raised an eyebrow. His words chilled the young men.

They were not used to having their victims defy them, let alone when they were as frail and tiny as Harry Potter was. Harry, on his side, was about to run. He knew that when one of them touched him physically, he would have done with him, or he could not defend himself, or he would defend himself a little too much.

And he did not want any of the solutions. Why did not they leave him alone? He had to be smarter than them, which wasn't quite hard. He would mess with them mugglestyle.

He would give theses assholes something worthy of his talent.

"Tell me, Dan, how did you come to be their leader? You do not look very tough, nor very clever ..." One of the boy chuckled behind him. Got it.

"Ow, ow, such a lack of respect, now..." He said, turning toward said boy, while the others looked at him mouth wide open, completely taken aback. "I guess you're the second? Yes, you are. And you want to be the first, because you're worth much more than this gorilla..."

The boy's smile dropped but his eyes kept mocking. Harry smiled, looking at him in the eyes. "But you're not tempting anything, why so? Mhm, let me guess... you disrespect him on another level... You steel from him? I know yall are frightening the young Hufflepuff and tacking their money, lunch and so... No, it's not it, so what is it? You're messing with his notes? No, no... Sleeping with his girlfriend?"

The boy's iris dilated. "I think we got it, boys! " Harry turned to the leader.

"Danny-boy, your friend here is shagging your girl behind your back!" "No ! I'm not!" Shouted the second-in-command. Harry smiled at the leader with compassion. The others didn't even move a finger.

"Tell me, Danny-boy, does he react like that too when he's caught by a teacher? You should know that, you..."

The boy paled and look at his friend with anger. "You... you slept with her?"

"Oh yes, he did, and I can tell you for sure that they all knew." Harry looked at each boy and stopped to the smallest one. "Except this one, this one really like you, look, he's so shock he look like a fish. Close your mouth sweety, you're going to swallow a fly at this rate."

The young man obeyed, twisting his hands in frustration. Behind Harry's back, Dan jumped and his soon-to-be ex-friend and ex-second in command.

"How could you do that yousonofabitch!" He screamed.

Harry took a step back and laid on a wall, deciding to look at his work for a bit. Dan was now restrained by tree other boys and the other one had a bloody nose. Harry Sigh. Slytherin too had its share of idiots.

"I'm sorry, but you should be careful with what you do in the corridors. The Eye is always watching, and nobody know when it'll act..." Everyone stopped.

Flint's punishment was still fresh in their mind, and they looked at the boy with horror. Harry didn't wait more and went back to the common room, totally oblivious to the obsidian eyes watching him.

Harry wasn't in the mood for work anymore, he decided to go to the astronomy tower. It was like he could find any information in the non-restricted part of the library, not about what interested him anyway.

He was obsessed, but he knew when it wasn't useful. He would do what he had tonight. He sat on the edge. He had never been afraid of falling, especially since he had magic to catch him. He closed his eyes, cuddling into his sweater and scarf, arms against his chest and Ananta between them, under his clothes. He started humming the song Voldemort sang to him that night.

It was strangely comforting, maybe because it had always been there.

"I'll let you know that two of them ended at the hospital wing." Harry didn't turn to look at Snape, nor did he answer. "It was very Slytherin of you, what you did."

"I didn't hurt them."

"You didn't." He didn't know if Snape was trying to make him feel guilty, but if it was his purpose, he was failing miserably. Snape Sigh. "At least you are eating, now."

"I wouldn't want you to be in if I died of starvation." Harry mocked.

"That's _very_ kind of you. If you could avoid falling of that tower you're not supposed to be on, that would be nice too. "

There was a silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was just that some things needed time to be said. "Filch said he was attacked by a snake in the restricted section. An enormous snake." Stated the professor.

"And what did our dear headmaster say about that?"

"Nothing, but his eyes twinkled a bit more." "I see. Well, that's nice." So, he does want to trick the Dark Lord. And old Voldy is falling for it like a teenager in love. One must be desperate ... He could feel Snape's gaze on his neck.

"I didn't tell him you had a snake." Harry smiled.

"You don't have to prove yourself to me. If something got out, I'll know who talked." The boy finally looked at his tutor. "But thank you for holding your tongue."

The man nodded. His face was blank, and he looked absently in front of him, lost in his own mind.

"What was she like?" Snape gave him a questioning look. "I mean, my mother. You knew her..."

The man paled a little. Of course, he didn't know that Harry had a very good hint on his relationship with his mother, all thanks to the Dark Lord, but the boy would settle that for later. For some reason, he felt really uncomfortable with the idea of talking about it. It was like entering the privacy of two people he didn't know but respected nonetheless. But Snape had talked about Lily to Voldemort, there was more here than Harry was willing to admit.

"She was a fierce witch. A real Gryffindor, always sweet and more stubborn than a gobelin. She was very gifted, you know. Good at charms. I was the only one to outsmart her in potion. She..." He had a sad laugh.

"You know, one day your father send me to the hospital wing after a fight. She hung him and his friends by the ankle at the top of this very tower – nobody could prove she was the one that had done it. Well, it wasn't like your father would denounce her." Harry was genuinely surprised by that confession.

"She looked fierce indeed."

Snape nodded.

"And you fought with my father." Harry met Snape's eyes. He was very frustrated not to be able to read what he was thinking right now.

"Just tell me the truth."

"Your father was a bully. He and his friends attacked a lot of Slytherins, some Hufflepuff and even Ravenclaw sometimes. The poor Quirell had a hard time with him. But he had a real problem with me. I think he was a bit jealous and he wanted to show off in front of Lily. As he was the only child of a rich pureblood family, he must have feel free to do whatever he wished."

Harry gave him a bright smile. "And could he?"

"Well, he and Black did break the record of detention... but he was protected."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore." Harry sighed. So, things didn't change since more than ten years. He wasn't upset about what he had learnt about his father... just a bit disappointed. But mostly, he knew that his father's behavior was the reason of Snape's hate in his firsts days. Harry let his head rest on the wall, patting Ananta, which was lazily getting out of his (sleeve to go rest on his neck. He didn't see Snape's eyes widened.

"You know, I think my father was the perfect Gryffindor. Reckless, brave... stupid." His professor almost jumped at the venom in the child's voice. Harry sent him a knowing look. "I mean, he did jump on the Dark Lord with his bare fists." Snape laugh. It was a true laugh, if discreet.

"I think the most tragic thing in that is that it doesn't even surprise me."

"Black, you said he was his friend. He is my godfather too... Why is he in jail?" The boy locked his eyes into his tutor's. No matter how good occlumency's he was, Harry could feel the pain dripping out of him. The boy was very conscious to be on a sensitive subject, but he needed to know more.

"Everybody knew the Dark Lord would come after your parents. So, they went into hiding. They cast a Fidelitas charm on the house, meaning that the only way to found them would be that the person they put their trust into would tell where it was."

"And Black was that person..."

"He betrayed them. This asshole told the Dark Lord..."

"It was war." Cut Harry with a sweet voice. Harry was surprised to hear the professor swear. He noted that the subject of his parents' death was particularly sensitive. No ... the circumstance of their death, or rather that of Lily.

Snape had not responded like that to the simple smile of the deceased, he had responded to Black's mention and he had reacted violently. He knew that Snape wasn't telling all the truth, but that would be enough for now. He avoided Snape's surprised gaze.

"They were His enemies. He would have find them one day or another. At least they didn't suffer." Harry stood on his spot, and for a moment, Snape had the feeling -fear- he would jump, but the boy only passed back the metallic protection's bar to return in a safest ground.

"It's been good, talking with you. Have a nice day, Sir." Snape stayed a long time at the top of this tower. The boy was a mystery. He had to fight the impulsion of go and talk to Dumbledore about it. Snape could see it in those eyes.

Something that made him shiver inside, even if he would not admit it out loud. The way he had reacted... He felt like he was opening the Pandora's chest.

* * *

Harry had waited as much as he could, but he found himself in front of the mirror once again. This time, he had taken his notebook. Blaise had offered him a writing stabiliser for Christmas, avoiding him to write on the bare floor.

He hadn't think about that when he had buy his stuff, even if luckily, he had taken an enchanted bag, allowing him to put a lot of things in there. He had pass the rest of his day to prepare a pocket for Ananta, putting her favourite toy in it (the one Damien had given him long time ago.)

Like than she wouldn't risk being discovered like when she was around his neck. He should have think about that earlier, but he couldn't do everything. He was drawing the mirror, noting the words that were carved on its top when he looked at the reflection.

Of course. He could read it, the word Desire, the backward of Rised. The mirror show his deepest desire.

But what about the Thing? He was pretty sure he didn't desire it, and that no one really did.

Meaning that the mirror was reacting to something else than him as a person. He noted his remarks down. After a moment, he let himself slip into contemplation. It was very hard not to look at what you carved for the most in the world.

But it wasn't the truth, and Harry only cared about what existed.

"It's not good to dwell in one's dreams." Said Dumbledore, behind him.

Harry Sigh. He should have known Dumbledore would find him at one point.

"But it may be good to observe them- to know who you are and what matters to you." He answered.

Dumbledore stood next to him, looking at the mirror. "Do you know what this is?" He asked. "The mirror of desire. It shows what you carve for, what you truly want..." "Many men lost their mind because of it, you know. They stayed in front of it and let themselves perished. Some died, looking at that mirror." Harry smirked. "Yes, that's what power usually do to people who seek it." Dumbledore's gaze was almost piercing trough him as he looked into his eyes. Harry felt a pressure at the back of his head. "Please don't do that, professor."

"Do what, my boy?" asked the old man innocently.

"I know you're trying to look into my head. Don't." He didn't answer.

That man was infuriating, but Harry knew he needed him on his side. But mostly, he knew Voldemort feared him. The old man was smart, far too smart not to see a real lie, not to see when too much was hidden from him. But things were better hidden in plain light.

"So, tell me, what did you mean with power?"

"It's quite simple: the mirror turn one's will into one's reality. A reality in the mirror, but a reality nonetheless. Bonding reality to will, by any mean possible, magic, words, potions, violence or even love, that's call power. You see, I think the person who did this thing wanted unlimited power, but somehow missed it and it gave birth to a pale hollow of it." Harry couldn't help but talk, because for the first tie he was talking to someone who could understand the complexity of what he was discovering.

"I see that you're studying the mirror quite... intensely." He noted, pointing at Harry's notebook.

"Yes, it's sort of a habit" Apologized the boy.

He wasn't sorry at all, for breaking the rule and studying a potentially dangerous artefact for the very good reason that said artefact shouldn't be there at all. And he had himself noted two things: first, Dumbledore hadn't talked about Voldy to anyone, and apparently didn't intended to warn him, as Harry was supposed to have a big and bright target on his back.

Then, the headmaster hadn't even looked at the cape, lying on the floor next to him. He wasn't surprise to see an invisibility cape. He had to know what it was, he was Dumbledore, meaning that he knew it was in Harry's possession. Meaning that he was the one that had given it. And as the cape was obviously on him when his parents died...

Dumbledore took it that night, or a bit later on, and thought it was a good idea for him to have it now. The real question was: was it to protect him, to give him the thing that had saved him when he was a baby, or for something else?

Harry would have like it to be the first option, he wasn't that naïve- if he was at all. And some darker part of him wanted to know things about the old man. Things that could destroy him, things that would make him pay, even if it would mean pretend to be friendly with him.

The question was when Harry would get his revenge, meaning when said revenge would be useful to him and his purpose. Revenge for revenge have no meaning. It would be childish. It would be unfair, it would like everything Harry hated.

"I don't know who did it, but he probably died quite young." He stated.

"Why that?" Dumbledore looked curious and amused by the child's deduction. He had the opportunity to debate a complex magical fact with one of the most powerful and intelligent sorcerers of his time. An asshole, certainly, but that did not change anything. If he could learn from Voldemort, he could learn from Dumbledore. Harry was not one to refuse any source of knowledge, especially when it could affect him directly.

"People who want too much power often do."

"Harry my boy, what do you see in the mirror?"

 _You, minding your own business._

"I see the people I like and love well, safe and happy, Sir." He gave him one of these warm true smiles that could melt anything and anyone. "And you, what do you see?" He asked.

"It's Christmas, and I was given a beautiful pair of socks." Answered the headmaster with a light chuckled.

"Lie." His voice was scarcely higher than a sigh.

The amused smile that lit up the old man's lips narrowed slightly. His gaze remained fixed on the mirror.

"You always smile, but your eyes are sad. They no longer light up." Harry decided to try.

He did not know by what strange impulse he wanted to help the old man, but something in that pent-up pain that he felt hit home.

Gently, as if not to frighten him, he took his hand. He did not try to get into the old man's mind, after all he was probably a confirmed Legilimen, but Harry had other ways.

He sent an impulse of magic, softly, as if he were trying to cure the old man. He did not try to destroy his metals defences, just to coax them enough to get a glimpse of what the headmaster was seeing.

After a few moments, they looked back at the mirror. A young fair-haired woman, pretty pretty, was sitting on a chair. She smiled softly. Next to her stood two auburn-haired boys, who fell on their shoulders in gentle waves.

All three had very recognizable eyes, blue and twinkling. And then, next to the taller of the two, holding his waist gently was a young blond man. He was very handsome with a wild air in his smile, as if he dared to dare to approach him. However, his pictures were a little more erased than others. A desire that fades away, Harry understood.

Harry let go of Dumbledore's hand, not wanting to keep the touch. The old man looked at him with an indescribable sadness, surprise, curiosity, horror. And maybe, a hope. He made a panicked face. He had what he wanted, he had something that could bring down Dumbledore, he did not know how or when, but it was there, printed in his memory.

"Sorry, sir, I did not mean ... it's just that you looked sad ..."

 _Look down, blush, twist your hands. Wait for his reaction. Here..._

"It's not ? my boy. It's a great gift you have. You have to use it carefully." Harry looked up glittering, apparently relieved of the headmaster's positive reaction. The eyes of the old man had regained their eternal joy and he looked at him gently.

"Sir, if you are sad, you have the right to say it."

Dumbledore nodded, some blonde locks falling slightly in front of his face. "The mirror will soon be moved to a place where he will not be able to tempt anybody, so I advise you not to look for it, Harry."

"I won't." Answered the child with assurance.

 _I already have what I want._

He felt the voice rejoice. Innocence went to Harry like a silk glove. Somewhere in the back of his skull, a great frustration spread. It gained in intensity, giving him migraine. He felt that the emotion came from the outside. At that moment, and at that moment only, he understood the real difference. The voice was Voldemort, but it came from within. Which meant that what the voice knew, Voldemort may not have known.

Conversely, more diffuse emotions came from outside. Dumbledore turned one last time.

"I also advise you to regurgitate your dormitories, my boy. You do not have the right to be out in the middle of the night, you know?" He said with a little amused smile.

"Since when the Gryffindors don't do what they have the right to do?" Harry replied.

When he saw the old man's face light up, he knew he had won that battle. Harry spent the night staring at the ceiling. Until then, he had seen Dumbledore as a kind of entity. He had looked at him as the other sleeves looked at him, the boy who lives. When he had taken his hand, he thought he was falling into images of domination and personal satisfaction. Maybe even socks.

But what he discovered was that Dumbledore was a human. With a family, probably destroyed since he wanted her loving and happy. A man who, like other men, did things first for himself, who at first dreamed for himself.

This gave the boy even more desire to destroy him. Because Harry did not dream for himself. His dreams included him, but he was condemned to dream for all.

Because he had been deprived of the opportunity to dwell on his own life the day he was killed. Harry did not count on the Halloween night eleven years ago as the day he was killed.

He was dead, but he had survived, it did not matter.

No, he had actually been killed the day Dumbledore, or one of his pawns, understood what was going on. And stayed there, watching. They had left him to die, to die from the inside.

The will of the boy is strengthened around this. He would make them all fall, one after the other. All these people of the old world, all those people who changed nothing. Those who believed themselves alone in power, those kings who looked at the world from the throne which he had acquired only by the hazard of birth. Those who had make him weak. He would make them even weaker.

His anger rose in him. His magic swirled around him. He took his temples in his hands to try to calm down. A blade is only sharp when it is cold, and its anger was sharp as a razor.

Harry did not realize he was laughing.

* * *

The next morning, he sent a cryptic letter to Damien. When Damien received the letter, he smiled with all his teeth.

He did not know what had prompted his brother to act, but obviously, he wanted to squeeze things a bit, kick in the anthill. Then Damien called Mia. The little girl arrived just a few minutes later.

She had escaped from school, as she did more and more often. She had told him she did not feel comfortable in their world. He had smiled at her. Mia arrived, her clothes dirty and stained.

She had had to crawl through the mud to pass the fence of that prison which the Muggles dared call holiday's school. Damien hated to see her like that. She was a magical child, she deserved the best in the world. He kissed her on the forehead, as he had become accustomed to it. Each time he had to lean a little more; It grew at a mind-blowing speed. If he had had a mother, he would surely have joked.

"Mia, come and sit next to me." He said softly. She grinned at him. It was rare that he allowed her to approach him, to sit beside him was a real privilege.

"Mia, tell me, how's it going with your mother right now?" As he said this, he put a hand on his back to reassure her. She lowered her eyes. She did not like talking about it. "She thinks I'm crazy." Damien's pupils were dilated with fury, but his smile did not move an inch.

"And your father?" He asked more gently, bringing the little girl closer to him. "He's at home now. He lost his job. He ... he just does not talk to me. He hit Mom sometimes. "

"I see." Damien got up gently and looked out the window with his hands folded behind his back.

"Mia, little Harry and I have a solution to get you out of this, but this solution involves your full cooperation." He turned to look her in the eye. "And there's no turning back, so tell me, Mia: are you ready for that?"

The little girl's face darkened. Damien shivered. He knew that hundreds of other children would have that expression on their faces. He was spared there, too. That moment when he had asked himself: "Am I entitled to want that?" And he read the same thing in Mia's brown eyes as what had appeared in him years ago.

"What do I have to do?" She asked simply. Her voice was not trembling.

Damien gave her a fond smile.

It would work.

* * *

Madame Marquinson awoke, covered with sweat. She had never had such a nightmare.

She put a hand on her chest to calm her breathing. It was only a dream. With a trembling hand, she grabbed the bottle of medicine that was still on her bedside table since her husband had gone home, unemployed.

She swallowed the pills hard, then drank a glass of water. The day had gone so well.

Mia had not once spoken of those imaginary things that destroyed the bitter nerves. She had even served tea to him like a real little lady, and had not looked at him with that defiant air which enervated him to the highest degree. No, she had been kind, polite, and did not try to climb on one of the furniture in the living room. She had not pretended to have done anything simpler, to have spoken or spent the day with children in the manor at the top of the hill.

Everyone knew that the manor had burned in a fire instead of the sawdust.

There remained only the carcass, imposing, which nobody had dared to move by superstition. And her husband had not come back. She preferred when he slept outside the house, with someone else. At least he did not look at her, he did not touch her.

And the girl was so calmer when he was gone. Madame Marquison did not like her daughter. When she was born, and had been placed in her arms, she would have liked to feel the waves of love that had been described to her. But nothing. She had looked at the little human, who vaguely looked like a tadpole and everybody said she looked like her, and yet she had not felt anything. For a few years, she had pretended.

And then it started.

Things had begun to explode, and the child had done strange things. Madame Marquison had thought she had gone mad. And she thought it was her punishment to be a bad mother. And she had been angry with her daughter for making her a bad mother.

She got up from her bed, which creaked a little. She checked that the door of the child's room was closed and then went down into the kitchen.

She would not sleep that night. The nightmare still resonated in his head. She was tense, her shoulders dry straight and hard, her long grey hair falling in disorder around her emaciated face.

She had been beautiful a long time ago.

And then she saw it.

She dropped her glass on the floor, where it exploded, the pieces cracking her legs and feet, but they paid no attention to it.

On the wall of his kitchen there was a trace of a hand. A trace of a red hand of fresh blood dripping gently over the white wall, shining under the neon. She ran to the child's room, it had to be her, she was not crazy, the doctors had told her.

She opened the door on the fly to find the little girl asleep, wrapped in sheets in an improbable position, as she had since she was a baby. Returning to reason, the woman closed the door and returned to the kitchen.

She had to dream, she was tired and she had to imagine that because of her nightmare.

When she came back into the kitchen, there were two hand marks.

She screamed.

In the bedroom, the little girl smiled a little, and curled a little more in her sheets.

* * *

On the top of the hill, Damien stood on one of the rocks which overhung the village and demarcated the grounds of the manor. Hands behind his back, he let his robes of wizards fly in the cold wind of winters. He looked at the stars, wondering which one had to watch over him, so that he could send a missile to explode. His single eye watched over the asleep cottages, an owl perched on his shoulder, its claws entering his skin.

A cry rang through the deserted alleyways.

Damien smiles and hangs a white paper at the owl's paw, before watching it rise in the sky.

The eye was moving.


	20. Chapter 18

Hy! So, i Know I told you that I would wait for my beta to catch up before posting an other chapter. However, she's so far behind that at this rate the next one will be next year :/

So, I decided to post this one, again without beta. I hope there isn't to many mistakes! I'm really trying to improve my English so... be nice? The firsts chapters are being corrected (I think we are at the fourth or something, my god so much work to correct all that!).

Please please pretty please review! (on something else that my grammar, I understood that I wasn't good at it, 5/5, please people)

Also, thanks for the reviews! and 200 follows! Damn, I didn't expected that! I'm sooo happy! Love on you all!

~LadyBraken

Warning: as usual, you know

Disclaimer: As if I owned Hp. In my dreams, maybe?

* * *

Chap 18

Two days before the classes started, almost every student went back to the castle. Of course, they all used the train, as apparently it was too complicated to organise appartages without someone getting hurt.

As they all arrived in their everyday clothing, Harry could see that wizards had no taste in clothes whatsoever, and it explained a lot of things about Dumbledore's robes. Well, even if the old man was considered an eccentric among the wizards. He didn't make any new apparition since the mirror of Erised, and Harry was glad for it. He hadn't tried to go into the restricted section again, he had to be very, very careful with that.

Draco was sitting on Harry's bed, showing him his Christmas presents while the two boy were eating the chocolates he had bought.

"Family dinners are sooo boring, but very important, you see? It is the moment you show to the rest of the family who is your heir, and what position and character said heir may have, meaning how he will preserve the future of the family."

"Seems more political than 'family' to me."

"Same thing, when you're a Lord." Shrugged Draco.

Harry smirked at that. He didn't even dare imagine the pressure on those child's shoulders. Like for him, but for different reasons, everything they did, said, even think was watched, changed, judged.

Harry noticed that he was letting his hair grow, probably to mimic him. At least, he had stop combing them backward.

"Is there a lot of people in your family?" Harry asked.

He knew a lot about the Blacks, but as the Malfoys came from France, he didn't have a lot of documents on them.

"Well yes. Not on my mother's side, but my father has a very extended family. Not everybody is coming, tho."

"Why that?"

"Well, not everybody agreed with my father's choices during and after the war. You see, things in France are a bit different from here. They had one of the strongest force of resistance against the Dark Lord, and they were marked a lot by Grindelwald. A lot of my father's cousins had to hide for years because of that. And they don't quite like England for some reason."

"I didn't know people were so divided inside the pureblood families..."

"Well, they are until it comes to the families founds." Laugh the heir Malfoy.

"Fun, it doesn't surprise me somehow!"

Harry picked a white chocolate from the box – his favourite.

"I guess you passed your holidays your nose into some book?"

"Why do you say that like it was a bad thing?"

Draco nodded with a smirk. "Bloody Raven..." He muttered.

Harry made a little vexed grimace before enjoying a new chocolate.

"In fact, I think Harry is a kind of mix of all the house." Said Blaise, sitting on Draco's bed in front of them. Harry raised an eyebrow, curious, inviting his friend to continue.

"Well, you have the thirst of knowledge of a Raven, the mind and cunning of a Slytherin, the courage of a Gryffindor and the social abilities and hard work of the Hufflepuffs."

Harry laughed. "Looks like you had a good deal of trouble with me, Lord Zambini."

"Look like there is always trouble around you, Lord Potter. Not that I'm complaining. Things are much more interesting since you handle them."

"I don't handle anything. We do."

Snape had taken advantage of his last days of freedom to see his old friend Lucius Malfoy.

The two men were both sitting in the living room of Malfoy Manor, a glass of fine alcohol in hand.

"Where's the lovely Madame Malfoy?" Asked Snape.

Malfoy smiled. "She went to claim the right to see her sister."

The potion teacher sighed. Even twelve years later, Narcissa continued to appear at the door of Azkaban to ask to see her sister. It had become a joke in the family.

"I see."

Normally, the discussion between the two should have been lively, full of sarcasm and games, a habit they had kept from the meetings of Death Eater, which reminded them of the days when they were the masters of the world.

Lucius snapped his tongue, forcing Snape to look up.

"Come on, Severus, old man, I know something is bothering you."

Severus shook his head. "Severus."

The man did not reply to his friend's injunction.

"It's young Potter, isn't it?"

He did not answer, but the expression on his face was an assent.

"Is he... Is he like our Lord?" Snape knew to see when his friend was scared, years on the battlefield with him had taught him. A scared Lucius could actually cause more destruction on their own side than anything.

"Not really ... I do not know, that's the problem, Lucius, nobody knows ... Dumbledore is as lost as I am ..."

Severus did not know what he could say, he was not even sure what he was thinking.

"Lucius, have you read what happened to Margeline Blossom?"

"The woman of the ministry? ... Yes, I was there when it happened, a vision ... of the most disturbing, I assure you. I was told that she was temporarily interned in St Mungos. A woman so upright and dignified is a great loss. "

Snape hesitated. But he had to know.

"Lucius, I think we have an appointment at St Mungos."

Lord Malfoy raised an eyebrow gently, casting a doubtful glance at the professor, but the expression on his face, or rather the absence of expression, prevented him from making a comment.

Passing the clouds of doctors and nurses with the name of Malfoy had been easy. The two men were now following Dr. Moos in the white corridors of the hospital. The doctor finally stopped in front of a room.

"The aurors think of a curse that would have touched her by accident, but the thesis of an imperium is not ruled out. She does not remember anything, but her faculties are nearly all returned to her. Go gently on her."

"Thank you, doctor Moos." Politely answered Lucius.

Margeline Blossom was sitting outside the window of her hospital room. She did not turn around to watch them enter. Lucius and Severus sat down on chairs that they found along the walls and brought them closer to the old woman. He waited in silence that she agreed to speak.

She ended by turning her head and glancing at them. "I have already told everything to the Aurors, gentlemen, whatever you seek you will learn nothing more."

Snape already wanted to punch her in the teeth.

Then the old woman looked up at the professor, and turned a little pale. "I remember you, you were with this child, he had… eyes ..."

She opened her mouth several times, then closed it to say nothing. "I do not remember anything." Her pupils were dilated to extreme. "But I'll heal. I just know it."

The two men exchanged a glance.

The day before the restart of the classes, Harry and his accomplices met in the the Chamber. Draco had to wave to the others during the meal to warn them. It had not been hard to catch their looks since he was only waiting for that. The two Weasley brothers stamped with excitement.

Harry came last, his hands full of those little notebooks that followed him everywhere. He put the whole thing on the high table before greeting his friends.

"Everyone has a good holiday?"

The Slytherins nodded.

"Well you see everything was fine ..."

"And then a little snake settled ..."

"And we realized that our brother was an ass."

Harry laughed softly. "I ate with them at the banquet and Ron saw fit to insult me."

Neville had a hiccough. "But does he never stops?"

"You'd have to deal with that at some point," Blaise murmured.

Harry raised his hands as a sign of appeasement. "We're not there yet, I'm pretty sure it will be better one day."

He noted that Neville had not answered his first question.

"Well, I did a lot of work, and I found a way for us to communicate without speaking directly to each other. I enchanted these different notebooks. When we write inside, the words will appear in all the others, and disappear every time the notebook is closed. " In saying this, he distributed the artefacts to each of them.

"It's genius ..." exclaimed Cho.

"No, just a few runes, third year spells and a few hours of reflection. And I must say that Fred and George's notes helped me a lot."

"But Harry there's er.. a problem," Fred remarked. "There's no way one of these little objects will not fall into the wrong hands - professors or students."

"Especially yours, Weasley, I heard you both were again caught by Flich!"

Draco's rematch gave him two middle fingers, which he returned.

"Just use passwords."

Everyone turned to Daphne.

"Well, it's a well-known technique, because it works. In the context of these notebooks, before writing, each one writes a common password that one will have chosen. "

"Mhm but someone can find the password or force one of us to write it." Draco remarked.

"In this case, in addition to the password, we do not refer to each other by nicknames, and the most crucial information will also receive code names."

They all nodded. George and Fred smile mischievously.

"What?"

"We will have to choose nicknames..."

Draco and Daphne exchanged a look that was screaming ' _oh Merlin no..._ '

"But who will decide the nicknames?"

"I suggest everyone except the one who is going to wear it. It's funnier that way." Harry said with a mocking smile.

"Okay, but we start with you, Harry." Malfoy replied immediately. Harry accepted with a dramatic nod.

"How would you like to name me, my friends?"

They all took a concentrated expression.

"Mhm Snake?" Proposed Blaise.

"No, no, too obvious ..." pointed Neville.

"Golden? Potpot? The Boy Who Did not Want To Die?"

"Ha ha, very funny, but that does not really help us, Fred."

Harry watched them chat with an amused smile.

"Raven!" Draco exclaimed, almost getting up from his seat.

Harry clapped his hands. "Perfect!"

"But ... why Raven?" Cho asked with an intrigued look. The others exchanged a glance.

"Tell me, Cho, when was the last time you saw Harry somewhere without a book?"

Realization flashed into the girl's eyes. "But why are you in Slytherin, then?" To that, Harry only rose his hands, showing the room around him.

"Oh."

"And for Draco?" Asked Daphne with a devilish grin, making said boy roll his eyes.

"Dragon would be much much too obvious ..."

"Indeed, as much give his name directly!"

"Exactly..."

All turned to Harry. "Well, if we all have nicknames that lead to anything but ourselves, from the point of view of the teachers, it would seem too foolish to give Dragon to Draco. That with which he could defend himself, as Slytherin and considered as intelligent. Plus, I'm sure it brushes your ego quite well..."

"C'mon, I'm not that vain!"

A doubtful silence answered to him.

"Ok, next! Mhm, Daphne?"

The young girl stiffened while the others started debating.

"It must be something pretty, which imposes ..."

"Mhm yes clearly.

"I thought of Laurel ..." Harry suggested. The girl smiled at him, satisfied. "I like this! My I know why Laurel?"

"Mhm, Laurel flowers are thought to represent ambition, as well as success and renown. And they are rather pretty." he added with a wink, making her rise a unimpressed eyebrow.

"Now now, calm down Casanova. Let's do Cedric's one." The girls said with an icy-tone, but a warm smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Mhm Cedric Cedric Cedric ... No, I don't see."

"Puppy." Cho decided." No one would make the connection between the two, and then it's true that your puppy eyes are your fatal weapon, love ..."

Cedric burst into a frank laugh, which echoed across the room. "Well, well, go to Puppy then!"

Draco glared at Harry, who shrugged. He had never specified that nicknames should be taken seriously or anything like that.

Then everyone looked at Neville. "Kitten." They said almost in a heart.

The boy flushed a little, then stretched his arms in front of him, blushing. Harry nodded. Definitely a kitten.

"And us?"

"You have to give totally different names, so you do not suspect that you are twins ..."

"And nothing related to the orange colour." Confirmed Draco.

"George will be Pepper and Fred Bubble." Harry decided.

"Why?"

"No particular reason, and it's even better that way." The boy replied, his eyes shining as he was slightly amused, making the two brothers laugh.

"Well, now that the practical arrangements have been settled, we have to talk about several things." The boy continued. "First: Dumbledore has gone crazy."

His companions watched him, partly dumbfounded, the Slytherins slightly amused.

"It's not news, Harry." Pointed Draco with a smirk. "But tell us what reminded you of this fact, we are dying of impatience!"

"Well, some of you don't know all of the story, so I'm going to tell all the tale. As we were reminded at the beginning of the year, part of the castle is forbidden access. Of course, as it was strictly forbidden, we went. I opened the right -or wrong door depending on how you see it, and found myself face to face with a Cerberus. "

Harry had to pause to wait until the cries of indignation of his comrades stopped.

"After some research, I was able to obtain information from Hagrid: The Cerberus was hiding something, a secret between Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, we did not know who was the second, and I doubt that our very dear headmaster would explains us why he sees fit to put the lives of his pupils in danger by introducing a Cerberus within the walls of the castle, especially as it has required him to lift some magical protections of the building ... "

"Wait, you mean if the troll could go in..." winced Draco. Clearly, the memory of the monster was still fresh in his mind.

"That's because there was no more defenses as Dumbledore lift them, probably, yes. Luckily, a few firsts year were here to protect that damn castle... Anyway, I did some research during the holidays, and as I did not find anything for Flamel, except for the fact that he is alchemist and have very bad tastes in friendship, I began to study alchemy. I've noted stuff on that if you want to study the basis, it's not very complicated. And I found it: what's hidden in the castle is the philosopher's stone. "

"What's the philo... -thing stone?" asked Neville shyly.

"It is a powerful artefact that can give you eternal life, among other things. Really, nothing to worry about!" Harry didn't roll his eyes, but what he thought about it was very clear.

Draco had looked gloomy, and stared at him. With his misguided manner and ego, it was easy to forget that he was raised to be a politic animal and was one of the most intelligent students in his promotion. Harry wondered how far he had understood what was going on under their noses. The others did not finish the silence and followed Harry's gaze.

"It's a trap, is not it?" Murmured Draco.

Harry nodded.

"I have left many false indications of the presence of a Dark Wizard in the castle, assuring me that it goes back to the headmaster. He did not react, which means he expected it. "

"What do you mean by several clues?"

"This must remain in professional secrecy, I fear."

"Who?"

Harry turned to his friend. He knew that this moment was going to be complicated to digest for him. "One of the teachers, a Dark Wizard of some sort, I don't really know. Someone inside the castle."

Harry stood up to take his hand. Physical contact was quite rare among the Slytherins, but everybody had gradually got used to Harry's eccentricity, always taking people's hands. Not that anyone complained, he seemed so untouchable that it felt like a miracle every time.

Keeping his hand on the young man's, Harry turned to the others gravely, his eyes sparkling mysteriously. "I think Dumbledore has set a trap for someone to try to take the stone, and that someone is probably very, very desperate and dangerous. My guess is an unknown Death Eater, hidden. Anyway, there's no need to panic for the moment: if Dumbledore is in the castle, the stone is safe, and so are we. But, and it's a very big but (no pun intended) the old man cannot do everything at the same time, and he put himself in something quite suicidal, or suicidal if his own life was in danger, I think it's more of our own here. I'm telling you all this so that you're careful. I personally watch over the stone, for obvious reasons given the context, and I would like you to help me. "

"How sure are you, Harry?"

Neville's voice no longer trembled, but he clasped his hands so tightly on the edges of the chair that his knuckles were white.

"I'd say I watched a lot of what was going on in the castle, and maybe I surprised a quarrel between Quirell and Snape, maybe." Harry replied, with a slight laugh.

He gave them a look that carried all the questions.

"I'm in."

Harry grinned proudly at Neville, while the others looked at him as if he had confessed to killing his grandmother. "Thank you, Neville, it's very brave of you."

Cedric stood up. "I'm in too."

"Love, it's dangerous ..." Cho murmured, obviously a little panicked by the turn of events.

Cedric kept his eyes fixed on Harry. "Cho, I will not force you to follow me, I have no rights over you. Do what you think is best, but if I appreciate Harry in the highest degree, my loyalty goes to Hogwarts. Now, Hogwarts is attacked by someone who comes from the outside. As a student, as a friend, I am with you, Harry."

It was so adorable that Harry could not help but take him in his arms, ignoring the pain. Cedric gently returned, not really believing what was happening. Harry quickly broke the hug, as the pain began to rise.

He was beginning to feel his handicap for what it was. He refused to give the right to the marks of this dog of a Muggle uncle to stop him from living as he wished.

"That was very cute, Puppy!" He said with a smile.

 _And thanks Merlin for the invention of bandages,_ he thought.

"And we cannot hug?"

"It depends if you're with us ..." Harry replied with a mocking smile.

"We?"

"Breaking the rules?"

"And go on a thrilling adventure with one the most gifted wizard that had ever walk on this school's floor?"

"To stop a villain?"

"Not our type..."

"But you can convince us, I'm sure!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I will try, but you insist so much that I do not feel safe anymore ... I think you will have to make more efforts to deserve my affection, my friends." Harry replied, taking an innocent expression.

"Okay, okay, but it's because it's for you, no relation to glory, duty, adventure, all that."

Harry only hummed.

He turned to Daphne, who nodded eagerly. "Hogwarts is a neutral zone. Any intrusions should be punished properly." Said she, in a cold voice, which spoke volumes about the punishment she thought proper. Blaise contented himself with shaking his head to signify his assent.

"Sure, I'm with you on it, Harry." Draco finally said, after a hesitation which must have given rise to many calculations. Of course, Harry did not blame him. To oppose a Dark Wizard was to run the risk of opposing an ally of his father, and the thus his family.

Eventually, everyone turned to Cho, who looked at them as if they had lose their minds. Then she made her decision.

"I will help you, and I will ask some of the girls to patrol and listen."

"It goes without saying that all this remains between us." Concluded Harry. "Now, the next thing is to find a way to communicate with all the school, minus the teachers, and that's sort of complicated. I mean, I could do other, bigger notebooks and put them in the different common rooms, but only four persons could communicate at the same time..."

Fred and George exchanged a knowing look.

"Well, we'd like to introduce one of our friends ..."

"A perfect Lumos of the first shot! 10 points for Slytherin thanks to you, Mr Potter."

Harry smiled politely at Professor Quirell, who turned to give advice to other students.

"Luckily, you're not in the same house as Granger, otherwise we would not have a chance." Murmured Daphne as a dim light appeared at the end of her wand.

"I doubt it. Did you see how she looks at him?" Draco answered, waving his wand in vain.

"No, no Draco, look, you have to move more flexibly. That's better." Harry told him before turning to Granger, who was shattering his gaze. He hid a smile. This girl obviously hated to be surpassed, and took very badly her defeat.

A little shout of joy brought him back to his comrades, when Draco finally succeeded and his wand lit up.

The young man watched his comrades try to do the spell in turn with an expression of self-satisfaction and disdain. Harry coughed a little, Draco seemed to forget that at least three students had managed to cast this spell before him, including one, himself, even before going into class.

Well, if it pleased him.

Harry finally took pity on the poor, weak light that appeared at the end of Granger's wand and approached her. He watched her movement for a moment, before taking her arm. The girl, totally concentrated on her work, jumped but did not resist, although her eyes were furious. Harry stood behind her, placed a hand on her back to make her straighten.

"Now, your movement must make a loop much more round when you say the spell." He said softly.

She pulled her arm away with a sudden gesture. "This is not what is written in the manual." She said dryly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Your magic is in your head and in your wand, not in a book."

She pinched her lips, but did what he had advised her, and her wand bloomed with a soft bluish light.

"I could teach you a lot of other things, you know."

She did not lift her head, her eyes still fixed on her own wand.

"If only you were not so attached to authority ..." he murmured. He gently pressed his shoulder before joining Draco, who was watching the scene discreetly.

"She will come." The boy confirmed, his green eyes lighting slightly.

Draco did not doubt it for a second. You had to be stupid to refuse such an offer, especially coming from Harry.

Quirrell had not missed a crumb of it either.

Harry was sitting at one of the tables in the Hufflepuff common room, surrounded by Fred and George. His presence had become habitual, so no one looked at him suspiciously. A notebook was opened before them, a ready-made quill placed in its inkwell. The three boys drank a hot chocolate, waiting for their guest.

A few yards away, on the other side of the room, Cho and Cedric were seated opposite each other, with two notebooks placed in front of them.

After a few minutes of patience, the person they all waited for arrived at last.

Lee Jordan shook hands with everyone and sat down with a big smile on his lips, tacking a drink from a house elf passing by.

Harry watched the boy attentively. His skin was slightly lighter than Blaise's, and his hair was gathered in dreadlocks that reached him at the temples. His eyes were laughing and his Gryffindor scarf neglected on his shoulders.

Harry knew that he was one of Fred and George's best friends, which already placed him in high esteem. The boy commented on the Quidditch games. He had guts and charisma.

He smiled at him.

"I think Fred and George put you in confidence - to a certain extent. You can call me Harry, but during our activities, it will be Raven."

The boy nodded. "Call me Lee then. River, during our activities, as you say."

Harry's smile widened.

"How much do you know about these activities?"

"The Eye needs my services, and you are here to give me details."

"Indeed." Harry confirmed, as Fred noted everything in his notebook so that everyone could follow the conversation.

"It seems you want to give a voice to the eye ..."

"Indeed."

"So, I'm the man you need." Lee said resolutely.

"I do not doubt that. What is your idea?"

"A radio. You know, I'm a half-blood, so I'm very conscious of the differences in technology and space between the different classes of wizards in school. But radio exists in both worlds and is used by everyone! "

Harry waited to answer that Fred had noted everything and that these comrades gave their opinion.

"Dragon says it's a very good idea, especially since a radio does not ask for any elite or regular physique presence from everyone. Laurel adds that you can combine this by doing a set of questions answers with your Idea of books in the common rooms. "

"Well, Lee, your proposal is going to be put to a vote, after which we will give you more information." Harry said, motioning to George to cast the vote and taking out his own notebook.

Harry watched the dots appear on the blank page of the notebook. He was very proud of this enchantment, which had taken him a lot of time and effort, but which for the time being worked very well.

Satisfied, he closed the notebook and turned his attention back to Lee.

"Your proposal has been accepted. As you have a glimpse of the Muggle world, you know what democracy is: that's how we operate."

He slipped a notebook which he had prepared expressly for the young man. "This is a means of communication between the members of the eye who have a particular function, and for now only for the members of the eye. Open this evening and you will receive instructions on its use. ,Keep the secret about your activity or whatever is related to the eye. If you talk, we'll know, and it would be a shame. "

There was no threat in the young boy's voice, yet Lee suddenly found it hard to swallow. Probably the memory of what had happened to Nott. Yet the child's face lit up with a charming smile as his eyes sparkled with sympathy. "Welcome among us, River."

In the Gryffindor common room, Neville closed his notebook. He had settled in a corner of the room so as not to be disturbed by the curiosity of Ron and his friends, but not too far away not to appear suspicious. He had learned the lesson that Harry had given him.

He was glad that other Gryffindors were joining them. It made him feel like he was betraying his house, although if he had really had to make a choice, he would have followed Harry in any case.

Neville looked at the window of the tower, ignoring the other Gryffindors who were stirring around him. Unlike most of his comrades, Neville was shy and withdrawn. This made him an ideal victim, and he soon realized it.

He jumped when we coughed beside him. Hermione looked at him with _that look._

"You're in touch with Harry, aren't you?"

"No!"

She was obviously not impressed by his liar qualities.

He sighed. When Hermione wanted something, it was often useless to try to resist.

She sat down in front of him. "I just want to talk to him." she says.

Neville nodded. Many people wanted to talk to Harry Potter, but he had the feeling that this person was expected.

"I'll pass the message." He finally said.

Hermione looked satisfied and pulled out a parchment to continue advancing in her homework, her bushy hairs falling all over her face.

"So, Granger, we're hanging around with snakes? Is it because you do not know how to have real friends?"

Ron stood in front of them, his hands in his pockets, a mocking grimace on his face. Neville looked away immediately. Again.

"And you, Ron, have nothing better to do than bother us? You'd better work, Neville's toad will get better grades than you if you keep going like that." Hermione answered, raising her eyes. But from where he was, Neville could see that she was repressing her tears.

Ron had turned red with anger. "You're a big mouth, now, tell me! Is it your little snake friends who taught you that, you serve them tea when they go to their Death Eater meetings, right?" Sputtered the redhead.

Neville shook his fists.

"Why are you doing this?"

Ron, looked at him, surprised that the weak Neville had even dared to speak. "Because I know what he is!"

There was no need to ask Ron who was the 'he'. The poor boy was only insulting Harry behind his back, without ever daring to face it. It was almost an obsession.

"Saint Potter cannot protect you here, Granger."

"I do not need the protection of anyone, Weasley!" Exclaimed the girl, rising. "Why do you think I need it? Because I'm a girl, because I'm a Mudblood? You think you're so much above me, Weasley?"

His voice rose in the treble and torrents of tears ran down his cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve. "I'm stronger than you! I'm smarter than you!"

All eyes were turned towards them. She screamed in frustration before rushing out of the common room, bumping Ron's shoulder as she passed.

Not knowing what to do, Neville opened his notebook and noted the situation inside. When he saw Ron go out in a horn in pursuit of Hermione, he congratulated himself on his reflex, and stood up.

Potter could protect them everywhere in that castle, he was pretty sure of that.

Harry talked through his notebook about radio's modalities when Neville's message appeared. He sighed, told the non-Slytherins to stay where they were and left the common room. He knew perfectly well that Hermione would be headed for them, so they would probably meet at the second floor or stairs, as she would take the best-known passages to go faster.

He stepped out of the common room with an assured step. He was getting tired of Mr. Ron Weasley's prank. He was joined a little further by Draco and Daphne, who were coming back from the library and intercepting the message. Without taking the time to slow down or to explain further what was going on, they continued all three. They met Blaise, who was waiting for them, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed.

"There's no prefect in this corner, Fred and George occupy Flinch at the Gryffindor tower. But MacGonagall might be around here" He informed them, walking with them.

"Very well, thank you for the deformation, Blaise. Do not attack, we'll use McGonagall for it." Harry replied.

He felt a form of anger that was familiar to him growing in his stomach, but this time mingled with something else.

Power's rush.

Behind the windows a storm was rumbling.

They finally met a Hermione even more dishevelled than usual where Harry had planned.

"Harry!" She exclaimed, running towards the little band of Slytherins.

Her eyes were red and her mouth pinched. Harry did not like to see her like that. Before he had time to say a word, Ron appeared at the end of the corridor, the wand out.

Immediately, all the Slytherins had their wands in their hands, however obstinately pointed to the ground. None of them attempted to advance or provoke a fight. Ron approached them. He was obviously struggling against his own cowardice, but his anger outweighed him enough to push him closer and closer. He finally stopped within two feets of Harry, aiming at him (or at least tempting to aim at him, considering how his hand trembled.)

"Let her go, Potter." He snarled.

Harry narrowed his eyes. So, Ron thought he was a kind of white knight saving a damsel in distress, and in that scene, he himself was the dragon . He probably told himself that he would be acclaimed after that, the Gryffindor who opposed these frightful serpents to save a poor Muggle-born!

He really, really struggled not to roll his eyes.

"I would point out to you that she came to us of her own free will and does not seem to want to leave, but you, on the othe hand, are chasing a girl in the corridors with the wand out and now pointing towards my face, while I am disarmed. " With these words, Harry raised his hands with a cocky smile, showing that he had no wand.

"Hermione, come with me." Ron finally told him to follow him.

"No!" Exclaimed the girl, who was beginning to panic.

Neville arrived discreetly behind Ron, and stood there. Harry gave him a wink to encourage him to stay.

"See, Weasley? When someone say no, you're supposed to let said someone alone, you know?"

But Ron's eyes didn't quit Hermione. "Come with me, Hermione." He repeated with less conviction.

"What's happening here?"

When McGonagall's voice rang through the corridor, Ron tried to hide his wand, but it was too late, it was too obviously pointed at Harry.

"Mr. Weasley, can I know why you point your wand at one of your comrades while using magic in the corridors is strictly prohibited, let alone against other students?"

It was terrible to see this woman angry. Ron blushed, turned pale, then bowed his head. "It was he who provoked me, Madame!" He whined.

"It's a lie!"

With her emotion in check, Hermione stepped proudly toward the teacher.

"You're lying, Ron!" simply said Neville. Said boy turned, mouth ajar.

"Ron insulted me and followed me into the corridors! He threatened Harry for no reason!"

"You..."

Ron took a step towards the girl, and to everyone's surprise, Draco stood in front of Hermione.

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley! A detention every night of this week should be enough to teach you how to behave properly." She said dryly.

Oh yes, Harry thought, an angry McGonagall was largely worth Snape.

"Mr. Potter, I dare hope you're not hurt."

"Do not worry, madam, he did not have time to cast a single spell."

Not that it would have changed anything.

She nodded, satisfied. "Follow me, for you, I advise you to go back to your dorm, the curfew is in a few minutes."

All the other students waited until she was out of sight before relaxing.

Harry turned to Granger, who had dried his tears and regained consistency. "Thank you." She whispered.

"But of what? It does not seem to me that we did anything ... We walked in the corridors and we stumbled upon you, that's all."

Harry gave her a wink and left, all the other Slytherins following him, leaving Hermione and Neville, who did not know what to do with themselves.

In his mind, Harry was counting.

Three ... two ... one ... zero.

"Harry!"

The young boy turned around, putting his green hypnotizing eyes on Hermione.

"I wanted to talk to you ..." she said before blushing.

"Mhm, it seems to me that the Hufflepuff common room is open for everyone, no? Oh, I remember, tomorrow is a day of celebration for them! But really, what day is not the Hufflepuff party day, it is leading me to believe that these people make an orgy of constant food and drink. "

And on those words, he left.

Everything was black around him. Harry had not realized that he had fallen asleep. It simply floated in nothing.

He felt distressed, but fought this feeling. Fear was useless.

After a few moments, the decayed bathroom was restored. He was again facing the mirror. Facing Him.

"What are you?"

His voice resonated dangerously against the broken panes.

There was an echo far behind him.

Voldemort's face was so pale that it was translucent. His red eyes, with the pupils split, fixed the boy. Once again, Harry wasn't scared. He knew too much to be. He knew himself too much to be.

"You know who I am."

"And I asked what you are."

Harry could not help himself, his words flowed from his mouth against his will. He felt no danger.

"You're not really him." He added.

"Clever."

The echo was stronger and stronger. "Your face is different."

"I do not need to reassure you anymore, boy."

He sighed. "I am what you call the Voice. I have very little energy left, my boy, I have to rest."

"That's why I hear you less often. That's why your face is like that."

It was not a question, and it did not need an answer.

"So why did you have more energy before?"

"You let me feed on them, it was the only way to survive."

The echo was now more than that. Like a cry under the water, choked.

Harry did not have time to feel anything. The energy of the voice wavered every second that passed.

"He's crazy, isn't he?"

No trace of his face stirred, but an unfathomable wave overwhelmed Harry. He did not feel pain.

"Harry."

The boy raised his head, to plunge his eyes into the blood-red eyes. "What you see, I see, what you hear, I hear, what you feel, I feel."

 _If you die, I die._

"He does not know." Murmured the child.

"He's going to try to kill you. At one time or another. "

Harry understood. And the Voice knew he understood.

"We are blurring, you and I." stated the voice.

The cries came closer.

"What is it?" The child asked, as everything around him began to collapse to the beat of his heart.

"Something you want to forget." Replied the voice, without any intonation.

"Harry!"

Harry woke up leaping. He was covered in sweat, and he felt exhausted. He took a few seconds to calm his breath and adjust his gaze. Draco looked at him, looking worried, sitting on Harry's bed.

"You were talking in a parselmouth in your sleep ... you looked sick and you convulsed ..."

Harry watched Draco, whose pointed face was half-lit by the rays of the moon. He really looked worried. The blonde's gaze passed for a moment on the bandages Harry was wearing for the night, but he quickly turned his eyes away to plant them in the two wells of green magic. He had never seen Harry's eyes overflowing with so much power.

Harry read it in his mind, and closed his eyes. He slowly regained control of his magic, and when he opened them, everything was normal again.

"Don't worry Draco, it was just a nightmare."

The boy nodded, but he was no more reassured.

"Are you sure you're okay? You need something?"

"I'm fine. Go back to bed, mate." Said the boy sweetly.

"But your scar is bleeding!"

Harry sighed. This boy was far too observant for his own good.

"Come on, Draco. Leave me now."

Harry's tone admitted of no reply.

Draco was unconvinced, but he obeyed. Harry cast a _Tempus_. It was four in the morning. He took his clothes for the next day and headed to the shower.

Harry dropped his pyjamas and bandages on the floor and let the cold water run down his face, chasing away the sweat and tightness of his muscles. He sighed.

He knew the voice wanted to help him. Finally, it wanted to help itself, which fortunatly meant that Harry had to survive.

He felt once again used. Even what was in his head wanted only its own survival. It irritated him. It frustrated him.

He was better than that.

He hit the wall with his fist, sending a discharge of pain through his arm. The child calmed his breath, closing his eyes, his head against the wall. He should not let his emotions be harmful to him. No, he had to use them, and use the situation to his advantage. The voice would do anything to make him stronger, to ensure its own survival. Good. Had his own guarantee for a long- if not quite peaceful- life. He could not change it anyway.

 _Calm down, harry calm down. Think of small flowers. Kittens. That's it kittens. It serves no purpose, it's cute._

That morning he had gone to the greenhouse, and he really did not want to cross the gardens by that cold. Trembling, he managed not to skip that class, if only to keep his status of good student.

The tacit rule was that he was in duet with Neville during herbology classes. Simply because they were complementary: if Neville had a real knowledge of magic plants, Harry was much safer with his hands, and they could more or less avoid catastrophes.

That day, it was rather less than more.

Professor Sprout had arrived with a look far to happy for Harry to feel safe.

"Well, well, children!" She shout while tapping the edge of her work plan to attract attention. "Today we are going to learn how to replenish Chinese Chomping Cabbage!"

Neville raised his hand. "Yes Mr. Longbottom?"

"Madam, the cabbage, they do not really bite?"

"Of course they do, Mr. Longbottom." She said in a cheerful tone

"But ... is not it dangerous, is it?"

Draco really did not seem very happy to have to deal with cabbages that might bite him. It seemed natural that it was the opposite.

"It's not dangerous if you do not give them your fingers to eat!" The professor exclaimed with a little laugh.

Harry and Neville exchanged a look that spoke volumes about what they thought about the mental state of their teacher.

The professor gave them instructions. Harry began to gently take the cabbage by the sides, wherever there was no bucket full of fangs ready to devour his hands, and lifted the plant gently.

Neville's task was to cut the roots that hung between the plant and the potting soil. But his smiles trembled with terror, and he could not see the foul green fangs of the cabbage. He held out the enormous pair of scissors and succeeded in cutting the roots, and a bit of Harry's arm in the process arm.

His eyes widened as the other boy released the cabbage in surprise, a stream of blood flowing down his brad and tapering the ground, the smell making the other cabbages even more aggressive. It hur like hell.

"Sorry!" Exclaimed Neville, horrified.

Harry smiled weakly, raising his hand against the wound to avoid losing too much blood. "It is not serious." He said, beckoning him to lower his voice.

He would not go into the hospitable wing.

He discreetly took out his wand and healed himself. His skin joined again, leaving only a pink line along his forearm, where the bandages had been cut. With another wand wave, he whispered a spell to clean the blood that masked the worktop, his clothes and the floor. If his beginning to study the Dark Arts had taught him one thing, it was not to leave blood behind him. Especially a blood as powerful as his.

Neville walked over to Harry, grabbing his wrist to see the wound that had healed. "How did you do that?" He asked, still not recovering from his emotions.

"I have a talent for healing spells." Harry explained. "I've always needed it, you know. I'll teach you that if you want to."

Harry lowered his sleeve before the teacher began to ask questions.

"I really want you to teach me, Harry ..." Neville muttered.

Harry nodded. But his mind was elsewhere. Lack of sleep, stress and loss of blood prevented him from concentrating.

The inevitable happened.

He had picked up the cabbage in his hands now, free of any black thread and tried to take it to its new pot, obviously against the will of the cabbage, which was probably feeling very well in the old one, if its furious clapping were of any indication.

The boys had to work together to keep the plant in place, but Harry eventually got his feet in a root that dragged from Draco's worktop (Harry would never have allowed such a mess in the presence of something Who could potentially devour his hand). The fall was quite spectacular, and he looked, without being able to do anything, the cabbage landing on Professor Sprout's hat. The woman did not realize it, and all her pupils watched with horror the cabbage chewing her hat slowly, visibly pleased with where it had landed.

Harry hardly stood up, dusted the earth, which had stirred all over him, and shrugged. After the hat, the cabbage would tackle the hair, which meant that there would be several years before it really touches Sprout. The other students eventually returned to their work while casting worried looks at the very happy plant.

Harry really liked the Hufflepuff common room. It was challenging, relaxed, still alive and inhabited, in such a way that there was no one to notice or judge what you were doing. Ironically, it was also one of the biggest bastions of gossip and rumours of all kinds. Harry, sitting in a corner, contented himself with listening to the various conversations with a distracted ear sipping a cup of tea.

A little smile ends up raising the corner of his lips when he has a mass of brown hair from the corner of the eye. Obviously, this was the first time Hermione had come here, and she seemed a little lost. Harry waved his hand to tell her to come, and she sat in front of him.

"You want some tea, chocolate?"

 _Lemon drop? My god kill me I start talking like Dumbledore._

"Tea, Thank you." Replied the young girl, politely. She was obviously nervous.

"We're not likely to hear us here, I mean, there's a lot of people!" She whispered.

"A lot of people mean fewer people to listen to or pay attention to, and if you stop behaving as if you were a spy of a Muggle movie, it would be better. You see, the secret is not to hide in a cloack of mystery, it only serves to attract attention. Come on, relax, no harm has been done. "

He served her a cup of tea, black, with fruit, one of his favourites. He could not restrain a smile of satisfaction before the head she did when she tasted it.

"So, tell me, Miss Granger, what is the honour of such an appointment?"

"You ... you said you could teach me."

"I said, but why this sudden change of attitude?"

"You know why." She said, glaring at him.

Harry sat up, satisfied. He preferred it when she did not allow herself to do so.

"Maybe, yes, but the real question is: what is most important to you: respect for the rules, or knowledge that would enable you to defend yourself?"

His gaze was lost with his cup of tea, her lips so pinched that they became a barely visible line.

"Hermione, why do you respect our teacher, and I imagine the rest of the system?"

She gave him a surprised look. "You do not respect them, are you?"

"CI certainly do so, as powerful wizards, as sources of knowledge, but I would not go and denounce my comrades, as you did at the last potion."

She blushed a little shame. "They broke the rules."

"You know Hermione, the rules of the school fall within the rules of the ministry. Dumbledore is approved by the ministry, or it goes the other way around, who knows. That same ministry that says you will not be able to have a high position in the public service because you were born a muggle. And the same ministry insists that the other students think that the Muggles still live in the 19th century. You do not owe anything to these people, Hermione. You owe nothing to anyone, so stop trying to prove that you have your place here. "

She sighed. "I know you're right, it's just that ..."

"Do not worry, if you're willing to take what they refuse to give you, then you can learn a lot of things here."

"Do you think I'm weak?"

"If I thought so, we would not have this conversation, Hermione."

"I see."

"I will not make you an insult to explain that treason is not an option, once you have accepted."

She held out her hand. He shook it without hesitation.

"I would have a personal question."

She frowned. "Go ahead..."

"How do your parents react to all this?"

She turned a little pale but did not lower her eyes. "At first, they did not believe it, but they did accept it in the end. It's a bit hard, because they do not understand half the things I write in my letters. After the Troll episode, they wanted to keep me from coming back, but I insisted. I don't know. "

Harry nodded. When she left, he opened his notebook, and simply noted " _She is in._ "


End file.
